Return

Drifting
on a boat
between
Harbor Springs
and DuSable,
blue, always blue,
perhaps some silver
and white, and at night,
only the lights from other boats,
and the glow of the distant shoreline
like a watchful line of lightening bugs,
hovering close but unable to help him steer.
What does he think about, surrounded by space,
unbound from routine, unobliged to be connected
by cell phone
or wifi?
What does he ponder, suspended for a brief span
from the normal rules? Of course, I am certain,
he is thinking of me.

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