Thursday, August 10, 2017

Aug 9 2017

I see it far away
under full sail
above a thin sliver of hull.

The wind, a gentle breath
of hot and humid air
so the surface is almost glass.
Where it hovers, weightless
under blue porcelain sky
at the boundary of water and air.

It's like a pointillist painting
in soft pastels,
an impression of stillness
through hazy light
and squinting eyes.

Toy skiffs
on a small pond
in a city park
look festive and bright.
Old men at play.
in games of war.

High summer,
and in the thick lassitude
of late afternoon
boats, going nowhere fast.
While time patiently waits
for the breeze to freshen.

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