I am tethered, towed
through the dark night waters
by a crystalline yacht
named The Apple.
My rowboat is an appleseed,
cobbled together from
wrecked masts and torn
sails.
She drags me along
in her wake, ever waking
never resting, lest I miss
the tether snapping and
a long drift into darkness.
Perhaps it would be better
to sail alone on my appleseed,
drink cider made from seawater
and list into insanity. Perhaps I should
cut the tether, fade The Apple
from my eye, and embrace
the long dark
on the mirror still deep water.


















