Before when sailing
Was plain, I moved
From here to there,
Rowed with oars spare
As ulna, returned hopes
To rivers
Risen
With hope.
Then, Built a cabin
With fir And foul
Language,
Hauled up jasmin,
And leant and watched
My plot
Scud through
Gasping storms.
After with rivers
Withered, I sacked
Kindling and clothes,
Boarded a ferry,
And leant and watched
It scatter
Years
Across my shoulder.
Arrived I relished
Forecasts and ice cream,
Hung hollows
For coming storms
And sat before
Waters
Beneath
Vaults of endless growth.
GJ HART currently lives and works in London and has had stories published in The Molotov Cocktail, The Jersey Devil Press, the Harpoon Review and others. He can be found arguing with himself over @gj_hart.
Image by Julius Hagen from Pixabay
The Cabinet of Heed 