by Tomorrow's Man
April 17, 2003
The planking beneath my feet is warm, sun warm, and I can almost hear a real ocean sussurus around the boat. This is not a boat, but just aplank, but my toes on the warm wood hear sea gulls, I smell brine, and if I squint high I can imagine a crow's nest. There is lava here where the boat should be, around the plank, and the hot smolder of wood reaching its flashpoint gives me a strange, quick memory of a fireplace full of my poems, blazing.
Despite the heat and flickering wood, I squint high and smile at the crow's nest, thinking of land ho.