truth

Truth

The whaling boat hunts an empty sea,
dots of clouds try to look albatrosses
but they can’t shriek and are myopic.

the trigger finger is cold, iron arrow
attached to a coiled snake try to catch
a breaker before it’s a foamy surge;

there is no horizon, land has gone,
a surviving sardine shines, truths are
hand reared to fit any old occasion;