Tympani by Nancy Meyer

Go ahead     bedangle me with your ropes, your knots
of colored rags that fly my flaws in the breeze.       Crowblast
every annoying trait until a storm of black feathers
whip through our cacophony.          You don’t even notice
I disappeared overboard 
                  going down in the oily swell.

But you will.                       And you will 

haul me in hand over hand                    over the gunwales
into your arms          kiss my eartips, bright with salt   
wrap a tarp over us. Dim lit under its canvas   
your heat   my wet  
Ropes, rags, feathers tangle at our kicking feet.


Avid cyclist and End of Life Counselor, Nancy Meyer lives in Portola Valley, CA.. Published in: Colorado Review, Tupelo Quarterly, Bitterzoet, Poet’s Touchstone and Wordland, U.K. as well as five anthologies. A blank page is her greatest joy and challenge.

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