Alexis Marshall Calm Seas Lying in bed Ditching certainty Reframing the ocean Three feet deep Friends, walking to Portugal For an afternoon Or wading through the Gulf Returning video tapes To some streamline-holdout In New Zealand The backs of whales Peeling in the sun Wrecked ships Turned over Spilling their cargo into heaps A man in his seventies Standing in the middle of the Atlantic His dog across his shoulders A rope around his waist Trailed by an old, aching trunk We both nod as I pass Hands in my pockets A copy of Repo Man Kindly rewound to its beginning Tucked beneath my arm