Oct 2018
******* of boat engines, gunning,
raid the silence of my perched open window.
They have their ways, fisher folk, and who am I to deny their tables food. Nets, full of brimming silver.
I guard solitude jealously, the absence of demanding voices.
Love can be found in such seeming desolation,
the prayer for friend and foe in equal measure.
I do not mind the sound of boats coming and going,
the deep blue a highway for whales and men and fish and stars.
The throats of bird and boat calling out, into the silence.
Written by
Please log in to view and add comments on poems