The Crossing


Yesterday I pushed my boat out
for the island;
the oars shivered in their
first touch of the sea,
timbers creaked and groaned,
or perhaps it was a song,
for to try and sooth the waves
to let me be.

The small furrows that I cut,
were quickly flooded,
while the song, was orchestrated to a plea;
white foam, salt whipped my bones,
as I rowed out the storm,
but for the first time –
in a long time –
I felt free.

June 2015 © (Löst Viking) John Anthony Fingleton June

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