Some
days, from certain angles
Or in just the right light, I become,
For most intents and purposes,
More or less real. By degrees,
Dreams start doubting that I
Am of their party. Gravity
Sends me notes suggesting
I am still its subject. If I seek
To board the warship Temeraire
A sailor forbids it, waving at me
My birth certificate and insisting
The ship was broken up for parts
A hundred eighty years ago.
Or in just the right light, I become,
For most intents and purposes,
More or less real. By degrees,
Dreams start doubting that I
Am of their party. Gravity
Sends me notes suggesting
I am still its subject. If I seek
To board the warship Temeraire
A sailor forbids it, waving at me
My birth certificate and insisting
The ship was broken up for parts
A hundred eighty years ago.
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