Friends of Consciousness
Anna P. – observer/thinker/writer
Cry out—the quiet
Dock lies deserted.
Empty space, once
Ghosts of things once
Inhabit the space still.
Just as one
Keeps trying to place a coat on a hook
Never leave a place.
Once there were boats, but the
Quintessential to their existence
Ran away like the outgoing tide.
This place remembers.
Veils of spider spinners cover the boathouse
Xceptional listeners may hear the
Yawning of the tired dock as more: A dying
Zebra's cry is not more plaintive than this dock's lament for what once was.