David Jackson

A Fish Out of Water

So far from ocean,

here.

No pounding waves or crashing surf.

As Nantucket weighs,

heavy and deep.

In my sleep

I hear bell-buoys.

It”s only a dehumidifier

droning,

as the engine of a ship.

Yet,

I turn and list

avoiding shoals and reefs.

Tossing in my sleep,

I”m a fish on dry land

with a sered eye

of rainbow.

Ship-wrecked.

I dream

of

home.

***

Grains Of Sand
by Joan Pond

The sound of thunder,
and I”ll stand,
transfixed,
recalling a day with no boats on a lake,
only bull-heads darted toward the underpinnings of a dock
and concentric rings of water infinitely expanding.
I shouldn”t have taken him for granted
but savoured each moment,
holding them as grains of sand
not letting them slip to shore.
That moment,
would never be repeated;
only recalled when rings of water
infinitely expand
on the surface
of a lake.

***