Obituary Poem

HE
knew, from light reflected off the bottoms of the clouds,
the depths of waters: shallow, treachery-deep, or wading-depth,
and all the hidden lagoons.

HE
poured fresh waters into gourds, and kept them,
as he lay inside his canoe, to drink.
Dried tubers tied with leaves, he stashed, as well.
He knew the swells, could read the
star-charts. Constellation consultations, he duly
noted in his ledger, and the coral pebbles on the shores.
Compass, sextant, map-maker: take note.
What instruments we have he scoffed at.

SO
I know he died, but can't remember how. I hope his
body never floundered - salty, leather-worn - and bobbed
ashore. Instead he might be hidden still, real deep,
slumbering with octopus, jellyfish, and squid.

CDL