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Feb 2018
I am a Harbor
Moss-covered barnacles
are my legs, and my back
is drenched in fog.

My wooden walkways creak,
and the wind makes me
groan with loneliness,
though life stirs underneath,
in waves.

Ships arrive at the worst hour,
full of regrets and suspicions,
and aches and envies,
and troubles and fears.

I welcome angry sailors,
the worst of all mankind,
to drink at my tavern,
and dangle their feet
off my docks, and
stare at the sea.

They look
east, north, south, west
to home,
and will never return.

Some men are bustling airports;
they welcome millions a day,
and millions a night,
see them off to other skies
and do it all over again.

But I am a Harbor.
I keep my vessels with me forever.
I guard them with an icy peace.
And relish in the slap of the sea.
And bathe in the salt of the wind.
Héctor Oliveras Garcia
Written by
Héctor Oliveras Garcia  San Juan, Puerto Rico.
(San Juan, Puerto Rico.)   
  322
   David John Mowers
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