Walking down the dock
hours beyond Sun’s fiery exit
minutes afore Moon’s zenith
sepia tones of the not so distant past
caught in awkward stillness
for a heartbeat, a blink, a moment.
cement over water
masts and spreaders and rigging
night herons on swaying lines
focused on a midnight snack
shades of muted ivory, slate gray, jet black.
Under my weight she dips slightly
welcoming me home
murmur of water set into motion
waves leave our island, set to sea
touching distant shores … gold, orange, crimson
with a breath, a sigh, dreams.
August 27, 2018
Written at almost midnight after an evening at Bay Area Generations‘ 60th month anniversary reading. The poets rekindled my childhood love for poetry as I walked down the dock to Sonho and took in the still beauty of the night.