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clouds, metaphysical
william logan
the cloud bank over cuttyhunk, like scalloped 1 --
just a short sail to faith and theology,
divine imprudence, the tides of doubt.
what was our workday, we who abandoned prayer?
the canted port from which the dories set out,
the rotted 2, the glued-together clapboard
all investments in some ponzi scheme
of childhood, intimate but not metaphysical.
there was a 5 to the inked clouds,
their shadows ruled off by dürer, the nervous
hatchmarks of each fold of cloth, flesh,
such as might be remembered in, of, grace.
the dories then. 6 up, floating in.
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