my grandpa had it right
it’s like moby dick
steadying your feet first, you
enter the space between your breath
then, you ask
“what will you have?”
he taught us
that in opening bottles
lies the art of concentration
i’ll have what he’s having
on the rocks
the shore collects
message-in-a-bottles
like love collects tears
in listening
we make ourselves vulnerable
to being changed without control
over what we will hear
this way or that
if we knew the way
the wind blew beforehand
it wouldn’t be called love
when you take aim
gauging your heart
remember
no one knows you
the way your target does