Tuesday, May 29, 2012


He wants to sail

An old man
Perched on the porch
As if made of stone

He once wore a ship
Rope burns on his hands

He rocks gently now
Embraced by the redwood arms
Of his chair,

His wife making
Lemonade and lunch

He hears the splash of ocean waves
The creaking planks,
The screeching gulls

His wife talks about
How good life is,
Home and safe
Living with houses and trees

He sees the flickering
Of the distant
Harbor lights
Stars winking at
The edge of sight

She weaves his hair
With her fingers
And talks,
Unaware that he
has already sailed away.

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