Shipwrights and Sailmakers

Floded river

Shipwrights and Sailmakers

Seeing you stand there in the doorway
While you watch the door swing on its hinges
As changing winds hammer it back an forth
Outside where we think nature is wild
But it’s not, we’re the wild things
Nature tamed its world long ago
Long before fences, before borders
Even before we dwelt out in the collisions
To high seas in our lone vessels
Our almost empty ship

By foot and bridge
Where we were once shipwrights and sailmakers
Mariners to the choicest of journeys and ports
Places walls never could contain
Well not for long, you know, not for long.

Such is how a cartographer of vignettes
Writes, spills both in ink and dye
At the torn corners to each hand woven map
Much a little hidden in the invisible
Its peripheral a story in flesh and bone
Breathing
Tasting a world in how it shares
Companionship and conversation.

End of day

Written while inside the lingering traces to Hastywords’ poem, Heavy Words.

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