—After "Rooms by the Sea," Edward Hopper. Oil on canvas.
She catches only a catnap before the walls
begin to luff, before the sea wind swings
the door wide open. Outside is nothing
to look upon but blue waves cut in furrows
by off-shore winds. No solid ground except
the bare floor scoured by sun. That ornate
gold frame on the wall is lying about stability -
the house lists. It drags against the mooring.
So much space in these spare rooms, she can't see
what's rushing in or leaving; so much space
she never knows if God will grab the tiller.
Each morning she wakes on a new continent.
