4 September 2022

By Philip Kuepper

Being built of live wood,
I could sense the boat
was restless tied to the dock.
It wanted to be.
It wanted open water.
Itself being elemental,
it wanted to run with the elements.
It strained at its moorings.
That was not how such a boat
was meant to be.
It was perverse.
Day breathed the last of its light
into the grey of evening,
evening to night.
At some point in night’s depths
fingers of a curious wind
untied the boat from its moorings,
loosing it free of the dock.
And the boat set out
on its own toward the open
sea, which must explain
the smile I felt myself smiling
in my sleep.  Come morning,
I wakened
happy.

(14 August 2022)