They Will Sew the Blue Sail

The Opening | Jeff Sirkin

Are we writing the novels

we dreamed?

Where we bury our bottles

in the sand

and the stars are cracking

everything open

except the stars are not

what you think they should be

more the fade-out of the bulb

than the game show host

at the top of the hill

looking down on a city

that refuses to exist. Marvel

at the green, the trees, the water.

The clouds whispering

through the windows.

The flat expanse of the sky

criss-crossed with episodes

we can’t bring ourselves

to repeat. The imaged lines

a gauzy blur.