I rarely go down to the water’s edge
preferring to be here on my hill.
I can see the field of dry flowers
where men will come soon
to build the new road.
They will throw up dust.

And I can see the little boats
come and go with their sails
the colors of festival.
They leave a white scar
on the sea. Someday
a boat will come for me.

I will be terrified and I will go alone.

J. Kyle Kimberlin
2nd draft, 12.09.2016

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