Selected Poems
Compass Heading 8336 261 deg.
A shadow puppet of a sailing ship
is in this evenings window.
It's half-moon single square sail
is tattered among flat clouds.
This is no weather for sailing.
There is no hint of wind.
A storm is on the horizon.
Living room lamps light
a red sky at night,
whose dock waits
in welcome for lost sailors.
