Because another day brings to light what another day brings,
the anchor gripped for a second then slipped
and nothing of any consequence happened.

Because the motion must be constant,
because the motion subsumes all that comes in contact,
the idea of the ship slides, and, its function forgotten,

the day is no longer a ship but a vessel,
the descent undramatic, slow enough
to go unnoticed by those unacquainted

with the art of the voyage, but this vessel is leaning,
that shore no harbor to hope for.

—Brian Henry

Image by Max Khokhlov


Brian Henry has published three books of poetry– Astronaut (2000), American Incident (2002), and Graft (2003). His fourth book, Quarantine, won the 2003 Alice Fay di Castagnola Award from the Poetry Society of America and will be publish by Ahsahta Press in 2006. He has been an editor of Verse since 1995, and he regularly writes poetry criticism for such publications as the TLS, Boston Review, and Jacket. He is working on a collection of critical essays on contemporary American poetry. He lives in Athens, Georgia with his family.


Published in: on February 3, 2010 at 3:35 PM  Leave a Comment  
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