docked in the waterways,
killing time and hallucinations,
the crook drank in wanton gulps,
sending each drop of soda down
with a murky wish and greeting:
“to the edifice of malice …
to the dissecting coils of warped time …
may Circe wallow in a muddy waterway!”
then sparkling upon the surface came
an otter that looked upon the dock,
contemplating a strip of ropes – used,
useless coils that curved in spirals,
a vision of artistic wonder,
near an old bricked up wall.
then with a roil he returned under the water.
using the sable brush of his imagination
he became the painter of the court of miracles,
his mystic palette, foregrounding
the seal’s art – created new impressionistic forms …
all this I saw and thought:
before the tide dies
and leaves the harbor empty
I’ll take a photograph.