Golden Age

What do you call that Far East Asian ancient sailboat?

The one that’s always amber-orange and silhouetted, multiple masts

Sailing slowly but deliberately to anywhere but here

Help me because I can’t think

What, with all the noise in my head, contemplating your silence

Your confident cowardice

What do you call it

I want to hitch a ride to anywhere but here


No — what do you call it?


Know what I don’t know to ask
Hear my whisper in your sleep
Take my Hallows’ Eve hair into your hands
Pledge to me
Light a candle
Taste of orange
Ward-back this oddest of aches