The wood planks of the dock
bask in the warm autumn sun.
The water drifting by this lee shore
is lazy, glassy calm.

A willow leaf flutters down,
tips onto the stillness,
sends a ripple that spreads,
diminishing, leaving.

Crashing upon me like
point blank cannon fire,
the voices, images
of the summer past

and summers past
astonish me, shred me
into flesh and bones
shellshocked in the sun.

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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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