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Jul 2023
Wind bellows,
gusts choke,
ocean's gushing spray
a ghost;
fog in throat
a storm's smokey omen
then
supernovae explosions
of morose emotions.

Juxtaposed,
atop, afloat,
a lone lifeboat
rowing,
going coast to coast;
rain soaks,
thrown to and fro.

Cold, piercing, potent-
rosy nose,
hands exposed,
fingers frozen,
spirit comatose,
bloodied knuckles
bursting bones;
both broken open
and all so hopeless,
struggling
just to keep oars,
boards oaken,
devoted to
a stroking motion.

In search of a post,
a place to tie a rope
but I'm a skipping stone
about to slip below.
Andrew Crawford
Written by
Andrew Crawford  31/M/Ohio
(31/M/Ohio)   
436
   Weeping willow
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