The Big Dipper

Man holding knife cuts another's throat;
we are told to rinse our bodies with salt

water fresh from the sea. In the man's
act, the head comes off clean like a tidy

severed thread, blood pools like a drink
of rose syrup. In my faith system, we are

told such bravery shown in dreams is from
a man of haq - honour and righteousness,

and I feel this will be my answer to him
when he asks of the time crocheted in

unravel-able paunches; I will tell him of
the dreams I see, weave a thousand nights'

stories like parables: fresh sea water
bottled as wispy echoes. Come clean

in truth, there are crying fish slicing own
scales. This will be my word in circular

insistence - he was a siren on the rocks,
forked tail like nettles sweeping tides.