it is
a grayling morning
in a southeast harbor.
i am hollow,
ghostly
in plastic,
womb
of a sailing vessel.
its sails are tucked away.
i know not
how to use them, even
if unfurled in grandeur
of utility.
a small wood fire
chuffs agreeable heat
in a tiny woodstove.
a dehumidifier quietly
roars, tasked to keep
all this eager water
at bay. perhaps, at
harbor.
the morning is
gray
and i am
ghost;
caffeine cajoles me
to rapidly complete
my ministrations of
nothingness.
life is living
and i know i am alive
by the silently
sloughing cells
that cascade in my
muttering wake.
they gently settle on
synthetic surfaces and
fecund beds.
the lucky ones will wade
into a thorough rest,
before they are woken to
reassemblage, to bring
the grace of their death
back into the skittering
hum of Life.
zakschafer.com 