peering out the porthole of the poem
I wonder will it be smooth sailing
of course, the ship is mine
and we have traveled many times this way
in the middle of the day or late at night
and the air is so fine
fish will arc against the horizon on the moon tides
rainbow coloured fish and glittering
and seagulls cry no longer in a foreign language
the waves are calm
the sun as bright as in grade school readers
or Midas gold
and I am glad so glad for the chance to watch the sea
of them
billow and roll my poems my poems
always gliding home.
mary angela douglas 21 may 2023
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