ideas of Boat

why so penitent when
hands must loose the tie,
why sad when it is the river
that knows crying,
why wonder when life is a tool
of destination,

~till one night~

pier falls from storm
little Boat goes alone
not pointing in the familiar way
always at,
but random slapped about by
current, wind, rude debris
that curses and threatens to rive her hull

no wood can bruise, no feelings hurt,
(yet)
so float and roll along with
as smile as can upon her bow
till calm and pool, bog and bayou

gentle swept round cat bottom
smooth for rough and shallows
dragonflies lunatic skim
beneath kind willow keep…