|
| boats |
| a few feet from the shore |
| in the sand, half-buried -- |
| a boat with a broken keel; |
| the last chips of paint, |
| faded blue like the sky that surrounds it, |
| clinging precariously |
| to the warped gray-weathered wood, |
| like sailors reluctant |
| to leave their lost ship. |
| a silent oar raises its splintering stem |
| feebly out of the silt; |
| wary signal |
| to the fishing fleet setting sail, |
| white masts proud in the sky |
| their wake's fantails |
| crisscrossing dances of light |
| waves touching now and again |
| the crumbling hull, |
| a greeting for an old friend. |
| © Jon Bohrn (1999) |
