Land locked

Underneath the 
upturned hull of
my old vessel, I
keep my treasures.

The wood bends 
above me and I
hear the wind
scour it, but I
have covered it
and battened it
best I can
to keep us both
safe and dry.

I sit and listen 
to the waves on
the shore as the
tide comes in.

I hear the seabirds
calling, the wind
howling, waves
lapping.  Sun
strikes my door.

Long since
was I out there
on the water
battling the angry
race.  I am 
land-locked
long since
with lines on my
face, sore hands.

I have all I need
here
in this upturned 
place, my black hull 
full, all my
upside-down
things.  How
the hours move
in silence,
golden ropes 
across the floor
like rigging.
The bell rings.

previous poem

next poem