I feel the swell,
but can’t see the boat.
Let alone know whether
it contains passengers.
It’s night.
The sea is dark,
and the most I can hope for
is a glint against the hull.
If I look to where the glint was,
She’s gone.
Tune to the
rise and fall
of the swell.
[National Poetry Month: Poem #17]
By B Gourley in Meditation, mind, poem, Poetry on April 11, 2017.
