reaching

tortured sky

collapses

moments frozen

in prose

a fisherman

in the rain

head bowed

the flowing water

a wisp of smoke rises

pipe in hand

gulls swoop and caw

littered docks

the lighthouse

dreamt as

a tower

now

intervenes

casting light

shadows dance

across your gentle face

tender thoughts

the dried corsage

held deep

in the fisherman’s pocket

remembers you.

old-fishing-boat-robert-lacy

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