Bob

A Poem by Rusty

Alone at sea.

A fine vessel, a trusty compass, fair winds to sail. I need not the accoutrements I've gathered on shore.

But for those moments in life, captured in my things, the contemplation of such, is yet a moment itself.

Oaths to slow, see things more clearly, to quietly surely tell those I love of their enduring meaning to me.

These self same oaths sworn are too soon to be forgotten until they brush up against me thorny and brittle.

In these moments, these poignant moments, I think of times that have no tangible treasure. Times that I swooned in love or escape-moments that I touched the intangible sense that being physically alive was enough. Nothing lived beyond my door. A door, be it garage, tent, or hatch cover.

Perhaps all I've really ever needed was a pen and an old paper enough to quiet my mind so that I could truly see those around me. Not their faces but their hearts. Then in that moment maybe I could grasp a glimpse of my own reflected back at me.

Seeing it, it winks and flees whispering "I'll be seeing ya."

Only then I realize I am alone at sea.