1 Down, 2 to Go

Seconds after Captain Dan told the story
of Signet #3 (found
floating in the lull water, stomach ripped open with
maggots spilling out) I found
a rat in the trashcan, huge by the look of
him and heaving, drunk-sick on filth or dying.
Kenny removed him with the trash forceps.

This means something, I think, this
haze, the death, its heft. The slow seep of
the senses coalescing. Duck weed
is thick, though, it pushes back what I've
cleared and I can see nothing but the tiny things that
coat everything.

Captain Dan let me drive the Independence out
to the lake for its nightly mooring. I thought my
usual thoughts of becoming something new:
a boat pilot, a diver. Someone who wears white.

I haven't seen a cormorant all summer (bird like
an oil slick on the water) or the coots with their
forward-jerking swim. Geese and shit everywhere.

Months of summer thunderheads to go.
Two signets left and counting.