Night passage on the water

A tiny porch light marks the bearing.
Buoy markers rim the cross-channel:
I back out of the confines of the slip
Into the reflections of my navigation light
Turn, and head into the darkness, onto the ripples
That build in size as I accelerate, planing
At speed into the cross-chanel chop.
I switch on the spot light, searching for
The reflective buoy markers and head for the first.
I cannot anticipate the chop, as I cannot see it.
Nocturnal ducks scatter out of my way;
I take a few bugs on the face:
Except for the lurching chop, I drift in
Isolation from the planet, steering by stars
And the porch light flickering through the trees.

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About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
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