On the pier of life I sit,
dangling in my thoughts.
Days past I'd be fishing
for the stars,
happy in my thoughts.
A small fish here,
a small fish there,
it mattered.
I had something.
Now my eyes close
to the horizon,
to my reflection of the sea,
and to life.
Birds flock to the skies,
in harmony,
with the wind,
with each other,
over singing trees
and ryhming seas,
in communal and in chorus.
My dark eyes look up,
mournful.
For how I thirst the album of life,
fervent and epic.
Resigned I sit,
my shoulders sagging,
my closing feet dangling
at the end of the pier.
I close my eyes
and think of my pallbearers,
laughing.
I imagine their lips,
curt little whispers,
my epithaph,
he did get his feet wet in life.

Logan Robertson

3/30/2018