Filming Pilgrims

Post wife paroxysm now starched,
Elbows red in white rolled sleeves,
His secret burns fast, pan,
A well-positioned boy who smokes out a window,
Discarding his amusement for a hummingbird.
His green sharkskin suit, brightly alert –
Dusted by sunshine, weakened with night.
Heartbeats, just over a wing he spots you.
In the span of a wink,
He’s gone from the ledge.

Trunks and leather cases, heavier with
Steam rises and ghosts we suppose,
The culprit which brought the pilgrim down.
Lighter than ice,
Thinner than sand,
Boring with water,
Less traction than time.

They agree to judgement overseas,
Extradited counts by courted spoons,
Sugary rebuttles, yet smoother than skin.
Sentenced by an officer not by a law.
The longshoreman affixed to his piers,
Neglected the icarian judge,

Drop open, wide the row-filled maw.
Obsteperous cats howl in amusement,
Floundering and crazy. Then up tip toes,
Lanterns blue and burning, red glows.

Sandbars fascinate every species, quite.

Another boss, still as mannequins,
In the shallows warmth,
Twelve years gone, a five and fins,
I froze. Adroit at his asides,

Still rolling my eyes.
A mother shark skinned my legs,
Cold water licking a golden shore.
“Killing thing,” I dive.

Flaming air lit by azure CH-4

Me, beside her eyes wide,
Sinking, burning with the tide.