flotsam, jetsam

The end of the solstice, the end of the world
Starts where you stand, the border
Between this world and the next one
Is where you stand, the threshold
Through which you lift the bride
Of the sun. She was getting a tan
Upon her legs sitting in the plaza.
She was waiting to be carried away.
The carnality of the sun no more
Ebullient than when it bleeds
Into an ocean, yolk-like, heard in the slop
Waters make against a lifeboat.
Where is rescue and potable water.
Here, as you imagined it.
In your dreams. You couldn’t
Get yourself arrested if you tried.
But you can drown in a scoop
Of ice cream: that snowy globe
On which you rest your head
Is half the world, the half that matters.