“Tree Fog” By Louise McCarthy

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It’s a tall sailing-ship on the ocean, 

Still, anchored, waiting – not to be broken – 

Or smashed on rocks – run aground.

A grey shape, visible in the fog – no sound.

Or, imaginably, if I listen closely – beyond the hush – 

Seawater claps the vessel’s hull and waves swoosh on the shore.

Sensible sea captain, dutiful crew, waits – no rush…

The sun is sinking, a gull calls, and the reef makes no score.

Explorers or pirates?  We’ll see…

I write in my log book – a note to me – 

“Tomorrow – build lighthouse for sea dogs.”

But in the morning there is no sea, no ship, and no fog.

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