moored

the cove where we moored ourselves

departed our craft and shook off

is now an oval of dry stone

ringing of the Bell Witch tomb

I compare it daily to my memories

eddies, dishwater curls, overcast skies

light sprinkles on our skin

the ache of sitting low in water

each day the longing eases

and thoughts court nostalgia

hoping for another splash

drums from the deep, a hunger

tracing if humanity could

travel these waters to survive, noting

how big the vessel we launched

to navigate these waters

will they wonder about us

see the paint from our hull

mark twain the water's depth

the rate we dragged and lifted


our cargo or our clothing

will they guess your dress

the baseball shirt I wore

your sandals and my shoes.

did we leave any tracks

are my words recorded

in time captions for more to read

can those silent moments mummify

so that life can have meaning

and stories told of our time

will not dissolve in ghostly apparitions

but flesh and bone life

I don't want to haunt, frighten

scare, hurt, poison, stab

howl, shimmer, cackle, knock or glow

I want to cross over to the other shore

when I do I want to know

the ones who anchor there next, come back

to that coast again in their time

share a pint or two, switch seats, and paddle on