I don't have a boat. It's just as well,
As her song summons me. It drifts
Across the water like a fog, insisting
That I come to dash myself against
Her shoals, our shoals, as I once lived
Out there. She's said she'll come,
But she cannot, so, bound to her
Inhospitable patch of shore, she
Sings for me, and I ache to relieve
Her sorrow, and my own. I stand
Out on this endless prairie, cursing,
Wishing I knew where a man might
Find a boat.

Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 77 times
Written on 2018-09-03 at 15:23

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Thomas DeFreitas The PoetBay support member heart!
I like the phrasing of "bound to her/ Inhospitable patch of shore" a lot.