The daily puzzle

steams into the harbor,

how to be

again and again.

Roar of wind,

turbine whine,

crunch of hull against

aging wooden dock.

A day

new minted

from the bank.

 

2.

For you to spend, love,

or hide downstairs in the basement

safe from the impertinent daylight

sleazy with other people.

Being alone is pure being,

isn’t it, but what about me?

Barefoot on the tiles of permission

I wait my time

my ship is somehow

still in the channel

on the way in—

nobody needs me.

 

3.

Not yet.

Too many miracles

have dulled my despair.

I wait my moment,

momentum, my move.

And of course there must

be a bird in it,

gull or crow or such,

otherwise how would I know?

 

4.

Less to say,

more to forgive.

Moral metaphors,

dusty images.

 

5.

What do I mean?

No, wait, it isn’t me,

I’m just doing what I’m told,

the tree doesn’t make

its shadow, the sun does that.

All these words are just

my opacity breaking the brilliant silence.

Silence comes first.

Silence knows.

 

26 February 2019