s u r r e n d e r

boat pulls away
the dock rope growing worn
our vessel needing repair

floor scraped by mussels, clams, brittle bones
walls banged by thoughtless passengers
the tiller tended to like a lover

one hand at the helm
the story incised in the blood of screeching gulls
the family who never left

only in your mind do you feel like a lone lighthouse
could you/ would you...grow your dark wings of night flight, &
let yourself be swept..by the persistence of my light

~Katya Johanna
Copyright, August, '13