Sunset, Black Island— photo by author

So many times, I waited on the wharf.
for tide or wind to shift.
Lying back on sun-bleached planks,
halyards on the flagpole tapping
like a metronome left to mark the beat
long after the orchestra has packed and gone.

Later, crossing the bay,
looking to see my wake
a long wave curling behind,
ahead the the low grey rise…