TUESDAY: end

BY SANDRA LEWIS

Copyright is held by the author.

Aside the peninsula dock
secured by a bright yellow rope
nestled in iron gray glass
under a darker gray sky
the red canoe
is
still

Here, there
right to left
east to west
summer to autumn
Vanguard proud
brown leaves
nudged by a ghost wind’s bare whisper
glide by
The summer is setting. We watch.
A bald man breaststrokes by
just a head
unintrusive as a loon.
Last
silence with the water
Look beyond
from the dock-precipice
onto
clear
dark
wet
mirror
a gull, black, soars through it
its airborne partner over it
Look across
to the slate reflection
dark trees of the far shore.
One with water with air: mystery interchange
Slip in, slip out
through the bars of the white-handled ladder
It’s so like a night dream
in silk.

Post a comment

You may use the following HTML:
<a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <s> <strike> <strong>