Wooden monoliths;
their larch lapped facades
peek from the soil
to glimpse a greener vista.
Turning their backs
on seafaring
they store landlubbered
memories
and tools for a journey
they will never take.
Rain whipping in the wind,
flagellant upon their keels,
raps staccato morse messages
unintelligible Babel
rantings
in the winter storms.
Their underbellies consider
the riding of waves
and surf-spray caresses
as bright exposure
strips their hulls.
1 comment:
Haunting words and photo. Beautiful.
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