Becalmed

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.

Children

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.