4 November 2020

Driftwood ribs turn over in her sleep
The ship keens under the weight of evening
creaking gently about the sand in her stomach
Her bones so bare not even the gulls have nested
in her slowly disintegrating body

As my toes sink into the shell-grit by the water
a wave unearths timbers that must belong to her brother
The galaxies overhead hide behind the clouds
instead of looking at what is forgotten
With seaweed stuck between his oak teeth, I leave him

Docked by the pier in a composed old lady
wearing a balustrade from decades prior
She radiates peace, sails folded as a shawl for the night
Her hull scrubbed clean and anchor firm
I bid her goodnight and wander on

A teakwood gentleman is gazing at the stars
He sits low in the water as barnacles drag him down
He bares scars from the reef and encounters with the seas
He is not much longer for this harbour
but an elderly albatross stays by his side

At the end of the pier there is an ocean
and a little boat belonging to me
I hear the lady murmur in her sleep
of beautiful places and worlds
which only the brave will ever see

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