All of this becomes
so necessary,
every imperfection
and contradiction.
All the sames
slip into the place,
seamlessly blending in
to a dull horizon.
There used to be a chair
out by the old boathouse.
You could sit
and watch the morning come.
Often,
it would look like you were there,
but as I got closer,
the chair would be empty.
These days,
I lament the dawn
and curse the evenings,
when darkness comes.
Somewhere in my mind
it occurs to me
that I am getting thin,
like a place worn over time.
The chair by the water
is gone,
and the boathouse
collapsed in a storm.
The pier
stands long abandoned
and nobody goes there
anymore.
But, the daylight
still breaks over the bay,
the cold Atlantic calling out
the names of my ancestors.
A slash of red light,
wounds the sky,
bleeding out
a dying darkness.
All things in their time.
Me,
and you,
and our memories.
I can hear the waves,
even though
the place that I sit now,
is two thousand miles
from the ocean.
Everything is necessary.
Just because we don’t see it,
doesn’t mean there is no purpose.
We’re creatures
in a temporary place,
watching the weather change.
HG – 2022
