midair

"midair"

sealed violets fell from
the worn accordion on deck
blue eyed man, the dusted
hat leaving blank spaces–
blanket statements,
you might say

black as the rail you
leapt from, sailor
shoes damp with confetti
the threaded roses of
blurry nights picked
at random, the smell
of blossomed gin unfolding
into your ripe red nose,

No one can hide in mid-air.

i am sure that
a special waltz was
performed below deck,
young flappers and tight
lipped sailors wandering in
secret, slipping along the
bar’s rail, the jazz all wrong,
knowing it might have been
a Bridge.

i am sure that
the lashing marble
currents of the Atlantic
carried your secrets down deep
in blinking meadows of foam.

But for that moment, Hart
when you met the sky
in a seaweed wreath
you were exposed
the knitting women
bartenders and seminarians all

looked up.

No one can hide in mid-air, Hart.
Not even you