Dory's End
Born astride the grave indeed
and boats in an overgrown field or
at the bottom of the sea because
the moment we appear already
we are disappearing we are
like a dream or an illusion
or the moon in water we are
never but an inch or an instant
from the moment the wildflowers and weeds
wind their way through our ribs
and casual passersby find us
a pretty spectacle indeed, romantic in our ruin
as if they were immortal, poor lambs.
19 September 2018
Texas Jim
Prospect, Nova Scotia
www.granitecoast.ca