rowboat pulls away from the dock-
thinning rope, growing worn
our seasoned vessel needing repair:
floor scraped by mussels, clams, brittle bones..
walls banged by useless passengers-
the tiller tended to like a lover
one hand at the helm- your 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,
and your bright orbitals of midnight vision--
only to let yourself be swept..by the persistence of my light
~Kate Lamberg
~Copyright, August, '13
eatons neck~photo by katya~(c)~
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