Old shadows

The boat goes up and down on the morning sky.

A plastic rope holds it in place, its green strands

Tying lives, in strange places, in shadow and light

Of fish in men, fire in women, smoke in old men.

Black bodies rise high in froth at the sea’s mouth.

Tiny tentacles burrow holes in its brown wet sand.

They tickle your feet and question your foot space.

The sea swallows us all, including our old shadows.


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