across the bow

it is a singular sound. a crack in the breeze.
(gooseflesh popping. teeth chattering.)

the whiz of a missile—the hiss of a viper
just thirty feet above—

a whistle to raise leg hair—
in the pitch of a moonless night.

that goddam thing came straight
from the ebony; out of the ether—

(a black hole knows your name?)

the inky sky
the heave of the vessel. then a voice,
behind you on the stairs.

or maybe you’re alone

maybe you are shivering

(or dreaming)

maybe you lost your mind