Lying together an early September morning,
my sailor says, “Today is a sad day for me.
I take away my boat’s dignity.
I strip down her sails,
unshackle every line,
leave her standing bare.”
His eyes turn away from mine.
“In a way, I lose
some of my dignity, too.”
Mid-morning I cross the low bridge
across the bay, turning back, there they are,
slowly maneuvering under full sail,
through a harbor full of boats,
graceful in a breeze that barely lifts my hair.
Las t Sa i l
Pulpit Harbor 48 / 49
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