prompt #13, hour 10 ~ 2 a.m.

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

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