The Kind of Hope

Elise Houcek

Our schedule nicked the catamaran,
Through its flying sphere
A cloth lifts
A partly landing veteran.
The storm.
Of what I’d heard
In the record book, it parts
All equipment as lawn chairs
Face the clouds.
That’s one reason
We ghosted. Our view
Was a raft. Careful standards
For crossing on the minute
Keeping the kind of hope
Our pilot weighed, in daytime,
Back-to-back episodes
Sprayed with heat.