It is a rebelliously cool and breezey fall morning.
The dingies resting in the estuaries
tug at their moorings-
but with a despairing futility
revealing their age.
Their moldy hulls and paint peeling from the edges
are the afflictions
of years of high and low tides
that have dragged them
over the stoney shores.
In a slant of warming sunlight
burning through maples leaves
I contemplate wading through the tall reeds
and seaweed separating us
to cut these creatures free-
and epically ride the ocean swells that
dare challenge our vitality.
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