Eyes Of A Sailor
(a 55)
My eyes grow rheumy
swimming in moonblur
but witnessing still
light's cut, color's fill,
shadow's indigo blot.
Light the blade, color the cloth,
blue shadow stitching together what's lost.
Old cells' ramparts
falling unfixed;
wind pulls their dust,
time washes waves
over mitochondrial graves,
but memory sails its unsinkable boat
holding afloat
my far-sighted ghost.
July 2022
posted for earthweal's
Images: The Boatman, and Boat of the Mermaid, © Sabin Balasa Fair Use
