Sitting atop a sea of trash
littered with pick-up stick splinters
for the first time in my life I fell compassion for wood,
it deserves better than this: pierced by metal screws, discarded like cellophane wrap.
Planted chair backs broken
three legs grasp for a hand
a comb, a coffee cup, a blue bristled brush
men hunched over pecking like crows in search of shinny tokens.
I climbed two staircases lying horizontal
tiptoed a floor joist
and pirrouted atop a faded vinyl sofa cushion.
Steel boxes sit on a blue horizon, unmoved by the crest of waves
their size, stability and lack of sails baffles logic.
Where has this stuff come from, is it missed? Who navigates these boats?
with these words comes that feeling so hard to describe yet so potent with potential
strength, poise, peace
whole.