London Poem: Day 341

24 July

On a ferry, crossing the bay,
The little boat decides:
I don’t want to cross today.
But, the sun, cutting through
Tiny latches erases the wait,
The need to be somewhere else, and
Allows the comfort of this life
To inch out, slowly.
The sky moves from light
To dark, and with it,
So do we.

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Published by

keelancrampsey

In flux

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