Here in the Southern Ocean
where waves of the Atlantic and Pacific crash,

a great albatross circles and circles
with its twelve-foot wingspan.

This woman who won’t believe in immortal souls
discovers she’s willing to believe

that the spirits of dead mariners
rise on the black-rimmed wings of the albatross,

this bird who resides in the air without flapping
and lands every two years to mate.

If she could marry an albatross,
she thinks she would meet him in an austral gale

high over the whip and creak of sails in the rigging
in this cloudy seascape of wreck and dream.

Each muscle fiber of her body shivers and twists.
She has finally understood lust.