12-11-2013, 12:18 AM
Alternate ending:
When morning winds had not yet come,
nor sun’s first glow turned blue the line
which restless stars go to and from,
I woke to night’s warm air divine.
I walked the docks of shanty pine,
the harbor fast asleep and still.
No motors droned: the bay a shrine
of solitude. That was, until,
a diesel’s gears began to whine
and cloud the sacred breeze with plumes.
Now trucks arrive. Their floodlights shine,
and men pour out as well as fumes.
But I untie my skiff, unknown,
and sighing, drift to sea alone.
When morning winds had not yet come,
nor sun’s first glow turned blue the line
which restless stars go to and from,
I woke to night’s warm air divine.
I walked the docks of shanty pine,
the harbor fast asleep and still.
No motors droned: the bay a shrine
of solitude. That was, until,
a diesel’s gears began to whine
and cloud the sacred breeze with plumes.
Now trucks arrive. Their floodlights shine,
and men pour out as well as fumes.
But I untie my skiff, unknown,
and sighing, drift to sea alone.