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Cartographer
by Wm S Boozer
 She is a sleeping stone,
Lying peacefully
In the murk beneath the lake,
Her arms, wrapped in saturated silks,
Reaching gently upward,
Her fingers calling out to me:
"Come down... Join me..."
I am tempted.
Many cloud-gray days
I’d yearned for her,
Behind my maps and compasses,
As she flew from flower to flower,
Laughing at anyone else’s wit,
Her skin as pale as marble,
Her eyes the blackest beetles
That would never crawl over me.
Then shade of night emboldened me
To take her hand and
Still her gasp with chloroform.
I lugged her to this precious spot
Beneath galactic planes and constellations
And dressed her up in chain and brick
To slumber here forever
After our first and last kiss.
She’s down there now, I know,
And maybe lines on graphs can wait
Another day
While I float above her
In this wooden box with oars.
Though she sleeps so beautifully,
She penetrates my breast
With her tantalizing whisper:
"Come down... Join me..."
About
the Poet:
Wm S Boozer is a doctoral student at Georgia State
University, and he may well be one for the rest of his
life if he doesn't get to work on his dissertation! His email is bilboozer@yahoo.com. | 
