Just Enough

Harbour: Gloucester Fisherman

Just Enough

How far is it?

How far is it now?

                               

                                Sylvia Plath

                                Getting There

Salt.  Before I even attempt

to walk out on you I’ll lay you

out, spread you like a samurai or

lift you, a sumo, whose great fat

fingers let it sieve to

through their skies, who lift

it, thin crystal, into

the air to esteem the gods

before they set out to smash

be smashed, a flab of

flesh against a flab of flesh,

sex for a second,

hearts to hearts inside

those passionately padded

bones, behind the first audible

groans where all

is still all

is yet caught

on the rock

shelves of whatever all

gravity plunders, suffering

the crack to be prised

(but blessed all the same

melting loss into rock holy

brine, just enough, my friend,

just enough

to rise up and die.