to the point, to the light house
the tide is ebbing and almost slack
row up river and let the current carry me back
Out into the channel the seagulls dive
the surface shimmers and a breeze is on the rise
The current helps us home, raise a sail, raise a hope, raise my spirits
at the bow the water sings close hauled, ease the sheet come off the wind
make myself comfortable, no shoes, no hat the sun is warm
come about and it's one long tack,
past a beach, past a marina, past a yacht club, past people I go unnoticed
I must be invisible, a ghost ship, bright red hull, big white sail, bright sunshine
no one sees me
I'm a ghost, ghosting by right up to the landing with full sail raised
reach out and catch the cleat with my painter.
A nice breeze is filling in but a couple of hours is enough today, there's always tomorrow, I hope.
|I forgot how well this boat rows|
The chair at my desk rises on the swell that the tug that passed me going down river hours ago, left behind. It's a giddy kind of instability, like a shot of single malt scotch.