February 10, 2015


I'm walking the deck
in a morning breeze,
memories receding,
like the birds
left behind.

If I walk far enough
I'll be back here, again,
standing by the rail,
searching faces
in vain.

The ship seems to have
a mind of its own,
heading for a shore
forever unknown;
sometimes I miss
the place we were born.

Soon no one remembers
anymore, slipping
into the rhythm
of the rolling sea.
None of the crew
ever speaks to me.

I pack and unpack
as weeks go by,
until finally we feel
the ship slowing down,
strange birds have flown
out to greet us,
someone says,
he thinks
we've arrived.