When I am old
I should like a boat
to sand and paint
and pull through
the waves.
I will put out on the
Sea each day and
take from her the fish
she holds about my
island home.
From her place
I will do nothing.
I will not call to land
or signal to the
other boats. I will
fish and stare into
her depths and get
lost.
BOAT II
When I am old
I should like to sit
on the top of the water
in a boat I sand and paint
each year –
myself.
I can hear the Sea
call to me, “Come.
Sit. Stare. Come.”
A fleck, a crumb
can only fall to the
surface for a second.
It is taken down on
the curl of a wave.
She is hungry - the Sea.
She is hungry for me.
BOAT III
When I am old
I shall have a boat that
I put-out in every day.
I will bounce on waves
With little care of where
I go, but only why.
The where will not interest
Me, but THAT shall.
That I should stare deep
Into her depths and weep. That
I should find in her the tears
Of my thousands of lives,
Mingled softly and hardly
Against the other cries of
Anguish made from the bottom
Of my lives.
That a fish would be taken
I would find ok. I would
Eat her nourishment as salt
And ashes and tears and bread.
I shall have a boat that
I put-out in every day.
I will bounce on waves
With little care of where
I go, but only why.
The where will not interest
Me, but THAT shall.
That I should stare deep
Into her depths and weep. That
I should find in her the tears
Of my thousands of lives,
Mingled softly and hardly
Against the other cries of
Anguish made from the bottom
Of my lives.
That a fish would be taken
I would find ok. I would
Eat her nourishment as salt
And ashes and tears and bread.
image by the author - 1995
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