IMPRESSIONS

The barges sit ghost-like
on the grey bay. I stand on the corner
here on the mountain and look at them.
Something tells me
this will all turn out to be
just a dream. Turning to the left, my eye traces
the graceful arc. I listen
for what it is telling me.

Out west
there is still a little light
left in the sky. Everyone waits
for the tide to rise, but I won’t.
You don’t know who loves you
or hates you. You will eventually,
though, as you will many other things.

(4 April 2006)