Red sky at morning, sailors take warning

Red sky at morning,
my beautiful neighbor
wife of the lake captain,
would lie, top untied
on our yellow life raft.

And we would wait for his freighter to past,
ever so slightly jarring her breasts,
white as a young raccoon’s face.

If you wait long enough you may trap yourself one,
but you still have a milk-mouth there, moon.
Breathing its rusty harmonica—
                   do as you please with this.
My world is not vast
as the waves, as the minnows,
the waves of grass, of pleasure,
the merciful, glassy lake mornings.