Poem On: Day 20

Manaphy (#490)

Prince of the cold ocean, unlettered
hyacinth in kind droop blue. In myth
gods make you a pretty thing
for dying beloved. Better consolation
prize than a World Book or hard
wax. Seafarer, trading hearts
like glossy cards. You’ve known
everyone you drifted past, been
even the thieves who stole you
unborn. To return against the tides
to a cold home, to make more
of you—call it hope. As if instinct
was anything else. As if a sea
could be anything but full.