Tuft of thundercloud trailing anvil head,
For a moment dove eating crumb of bread
From bronze rail before flight
With point on horizon to sight
Full wind, full rudder churns freshwater white.
Out to quiet sailing had set we
With jib and full sail cast
As have sturdy fellows past.
I could hear almost the Old Salt
From his boat in briny harbor forgot
Talking as frapped his rope
'... Bloody Lake Mich, choppy old moat,
'... Choppy when the wind blows,
'... Meaner'n a blistered nanny goat.'
Leaning with gaunt arm bare
Upon bronze gunwale, pushing aside thick hair,
Squinting ignobly in bright sun-glare
With meaty fingers tugs at pipe there
Aboard chapped lips points to east horizon
Of inland mare, fashions scowl for his next quip
As great barrier of clouds form at fast clip
'... Tha' water my life did I impart,
'... Not much left for Almighty God to sort.'
Flipping pocket flap open like a hatch
Wriggling fingers while digging for a match
To strike against all that scratch
Of a standard jaw, put he then pipe to pucker,
Match to pipe bowl, sucked he flame to tobacco;
Returning to his task murmuring just audible
Pipe clenched tightly in teeth and jaw
Spatted he to indicate his final card
Whispering as puckers he a humid draw:
'... Wha'cha gonna do ... Wha's one to do ...
'... Wha' character does she reflect when tide low
'... How can tide pool stand for long
'... in ancient thirsty sand?'
Calm smile now on his face in half shadow ...
'... To where my life depart; to live a mariner
'... For what did I impart these hands?'
I remember sail cloth masted, trimmed taut
To gather wind for friends at steady knot
A chance to depart on lake large as a sea
And to cross horizon in time eternity
With promise for life, love and for loss.
Copyright © 2010-11 Patrick Darnell
