There is a canal above the clouds.
It steals our world and hauls it to Mars.
It holds the moon thin then floats it
like an eye plucked out of the Nile.
Crocodiles are made from stardust
and they cry among our toddlers:
be hungry in a boat, be thirsty in sand,
the hands of a shadow will feed us.
This is the canal. This is its last boat.
It is an echo. It is a scuba diver’s body.
It is a chewed up spaceship falling.
I hear it is hiding heaven inside a book
nobody wants, though they call it holy.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 27, Issue 5.
Clyde Kessler lives in Radford, Virginia with his wife Kendall and their son Alan. Several years ago, they added an art studio to their home, and named it Towhee Hill. In 2017, Cedar Creek published his book of poems, Fiddling At Midnight’s Farmhouse, which Kendall illustrated.
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