from the bank
I see the ghost of a pier
old posts standing solitaire
a ramp rotted, long gone
moored to one stubborn beam,
a bass boat, tethered to time, rocking
with the whims of the waters
fickle, but steady
storms upriver may hasten
the current, bloat the stream
though the flow never ends,
lapping against the hull
hiding inside are more ghosts:
phantom footfalls of fishermen,
odors as old as Eden, sounds
which once made songs
by those who cranked the motor,
manned the rudder and cast the lines
into the depths, seeking a tug--a pull
that meant dinner, a small success
a simple surrender of one species
to another, from beneath the surface
into the sun, a sublime suffocation,
then stillness before the gutting
many a day ended this way
the boat buoyed again to the dock
bellies then filled from the sacrifice,
the waters licking long the wood
Mar 28, 2017
Mar 28, 2017 at 9:14 PM UTC
from the bank
I see the ghost of a pier
old posts standing solitaire
a ramp rotted, long gone
moored to one stubborn beam,
a bass boat, tethered to time, rocking
with the whims of the waters
fickle, but steady
storms upriver may hasten
the current, bloat the stream
though the flow never ends,
lapping against the hull
hiding inside are more ghosts:
phantom footfalls of fishermen,
odors as old as Eden, sounds
which once made songs
by those who cranked the motor,
manned the rudder and cast the lines
into the depths, seeking a tug--a pull
that meant dinner, a small success
a simple surrender of one species
to another, from beneath the surface
into the sun, a sublime suffocation,
then stillness before the gutting
many a day ended this way
the boat buoyed again to the dock
bellies then filled from the sacrifice,
the waters licking long the wood
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