Travelling Soliloquy

Travelling Soliloquy

On a cabinet in the ferry, a porcelain plate
painted in blue with a Korean St Christopher
type, almost as big as a mountain, crossing a bridge
to a house, the door of which he will not fit
— who lives in such a house, so tiny & remote?
A friend? Prey for a salesman? Something or other.
Out on the deck i learn to be a plastic bag
tied to a stick & take comfort in the bulks of rope
wound like the fertile scheming of a wasp.
The ferry passes through a corridor of islets
like tombs that people have left to the wild;
one with ample space enough on which, a lighthouse
was built, an unlikely spot for a guiding hand
— & out of nowhere, how odd is getting old?

a penny for your thoughts

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s