by SuniD
It is early enough to be late for some.
Stragglers, thugs and bums
Scuttle and huddle in
Island masses.
Torso heaving with thick clouds of
life,
I peer over the edge.
The distant ink that swallows
everything
Snags my murky mind’s eye.
An old woman and her young boy hurry
past
To reach the other side.
A small boat at the base of my post
Smoothly rejects each groping ripple
As the masked current twists in
torment,
Like my mettle.
The gondolier puts skilled hands toward
his purpose,
Loading precious cargo on his small
beam,
Leading pilgrims safely beyond.
He is not swift enough for me.
Softly, I slip into gravity.
