Thursday, November 11, 2010


Hours beyond the stormy row,
wind has laid down spent arms,
to lay up storm for another day.

But for the soft bobbing of a tiny barque,
smooth as glass the waters lie
as far as horizon gleams in wearied eye.

Sun veiled by clouds belies a warmth,
one meant to beckon thirst
to this floating desert island.

No movement is called for,
and from crew none called forth,
nay, no movement at all.

Forward momentum shall be determined
not by willingness of reasoned effort,
but by serendipitous circumstance alone.

© 2010 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

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