Across wet glass we rub our noses
To paint a picture that presupposes
Like confused footsteps that reach
Across some worn and weathered beach.
These words that fix you, find you,
Words, that bind you, words that blind you,
Words that lead you to a trance
Or spin you with some sacred dance,
Before your fingers can perturb
The petals of a rosebud undisturbed.
Within the jar the question lingers
As we count with broken fingers.
A mermaid sings in a distant sea.
Like stars she cannot be seen directly,
Etched in moon glow beyond all proof
Like some last Olympian, proud, aloof.
Clinton Van Inman was born in Walton-on-Thames, England in 1945. He grew up in North Carolina, graduated from San Diego State University in 1977 with BA in philosophy. Currently, he is a high school teacher in Tampa Bay, Fla. He lives with his wife, Elba.  Recently, his work has appeared online in Poetry, BlackCatPoems, The Inclement, The Tower Journal, Warwick Unbound, and The Beatnik, and in print  in Down in the Dirt, Hudson View, The Tower Journal, The Inclement, Out of Our, and Indiana University Spirits. Currently, he is working on a book of poetry to be titled “One Last Beat.” 
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