there is a boat on
the horizon that is
soft and lovely
and if i were stronger,
i would swim out and
write poems for her
but in this retelling
of the same old tale,
i find myself
bound to the land
so i will build
myself a little cabin
with a wide front porch
and i will wait
and maybe that boat
with all her sails and
lonely wooden rails with
no smiling scallywag to
lean against, well,
maybe she’ll make the
journey to me this time?
and until then,
i will sit on my porch
with coffee and a good book
and gaze out to sea
and maybe i’ll learn
to swim this time,
and maybe i won’t
but i will keep the
porchlight on
just the same