Wednesday, December 29, 2010


In the predawn, a baby is heard crying.
The soft glow of lamplight complements
the distant white starlight, as secrets
and intimacies are cast out 
into the sky's quiet expanse.
People meet in dark alleyways
bump into each other 
in unexpected corners
coming together slowly
coalescing under candlelight
sometimes appearing a bit strange
a bit, surprised, in each others company.
As the sun warms up the distant 
horizon into a dark gray
they make their way to the docks
walking tall in darkness
huddling under what light there is
hearts quiet in their noise
feet shuffling their way onto boats
boats rocking out into the cradle of the sea.
And all along the shorelines
the yellow glow spreads outward
and the people
they cast out their hearts like bait
on double pronged hooks
waiting for a bite
trolling for a shudder-
a shake of their line
something, anything
to beat the tranquility.
For years, I have enjoyed 
the catches of my heart.
For years, I have tried
little by little
to unfasten this heart 
from these hooks
to little avail.
One day
I will let go of my line
cast myself into the water
and the rust can take the hooks
and my heart can seep into the sea

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