Changing the Imperatives
The past. The wretched luck that,
nailed to the mast, becomes the goad
for which the ship is lost.
Take up the fallen hammer
and turning it around, pry
the nail from Ahab's gold doubloon,
then toss it over the side.
Watch how fast the ocean can forget,
how brief an opening your entry
makes, how soon the wave
shuts back upon itself, how small
a curiosity the turning bit of gold
excites as it drifts down
through the endless sift of green. . .