Fleeting Fire

Metal to metal; sweating and sea ready, 
he mends his boat. 

We drive through the blue shipyard, 
listening to Christmas carols. 

Dusk is quiet like the sunset was, 
flat and full of absent colors. 

We slow to watch his ceasless fire
as it pours into the grey water.  

Little songs become big in the singing.

 

Yellow Sweater

WA

YWP Alumni Advisor

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