1.                    

a benediction on the wharf

one of those yesterday’s cold coffee mornings
after an autumn rain, on the edge of the solstice
rolling a day of tugs and trains and 18-wheel trucks
the quiet near overrun in the echo of sirens

2.

these prayers and a communion of coffee

maintaining the end at the edge of the world
is a sacrifice of diesel sweat and blood
and winters of waiting – walking the wharf
is a meditation, a prayer, a vigil
in anticipation of high water and fog

[from upcoming Watchman’s Journal installment: “Wharf Fung Shui”]