Two Poems by James Doyle
Boston Harbor is iced in. Captains
The crews are cavalier for the tropics--
the steamy flanks of cattle, scuttling
light in red slabs. Now purple gone
sleds of waterfront rum stalled
crooked in the cold. Boston waits.
Since the snow has more directions
themselves its center, melt it
their fingers, refreezes as it hits
suddenly whirl around them like vertigo.
breaths for balance. They are salvage,
The River Dolphin
The power of the trees to shake sun down
that can never get enough of the forest.
leans over the bank, dumps its decay, rich
without a motor, the rowers are tanagers
The legends say tanagers can sing only
and floral, their skins bright with paint.
of the dolphin. When the river returns
but to start again. Surely other tanagers,