2 a.m.
The moon so bright that moonbeams
become beacons, illuminate the dock
until an abandoned steel canteen
glitters like forgotten treasure
Beneath a looming Douglas fir
a shelf of rock the colour of weak coffee
juts over the water’s surface
Fog spirals from the hushed water
Here no damn concrete no 21st
century bling, no detritus to remind us
that we are transients. only the rock
knows time, and the water that carves it
nicely done!
The night is silent at 2 a.m. but by no means is it inactive. You capture so much happening, and it came through clearly in my mind’s eye. This is a beautful poem.
You write beautifully!!! I love this poem and this line: ‘a shelf of rock the colour of weak coffee’
Loved every line and every word. This is a beautiful piece of poetry.
Thank you all!
This was amazing. Every line flowed nicely with the next. It was easy to place myself into the poem and visualize what was happening. Thank you for sharing this.