flood the sky

light a fire,
find a cauldron
shaped like a stone,
it can be done,
or maybe that old bathtub
your grandmother dragged
down to the beach
for the selkies,
if you can remember where
it’s hidden.
fill it with the sea,
right to the rim,
then simmer away
until you flood the sky
with steam.

the water’s right,
just after midnight, or so,
which is the time to
settle into the salty,
sweet heat, submerge
yourself almost, everything
except your toes
and your knees and your nose.
point them toward the stars
along with your voice,
and sing your dreams
into the dawn.

flood the sky

the rubber duck that
came wandering among
waves and foam at the edge
one day, and decided to stay
for awhile, will probably
sing harmony, then
tell a joke or two.