fisherman on anchor
the waves slide beneath the boats,
they bob, silent, contemplative, mindlessly so.
anchor lines taught,
as the wind pulls like gravity,
boats on water, specks afloat the void
the bliss of the anchor;
a main-stay binding to a point,
around which you may drift & sway,
returning, or having the potential to,
at whim and will
freezing dawn; the light lets known
the cold, calmly pitted at its zenith,
moves slowly with the breeze as
rays massage the sands into their appearance
of summer.
hammock sleepers writhe and wriggle
beneath thin blankets;
the stars' indifference forces the
recognition of the illusion of coldness.
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