Do Miracles Occur

Written by: Jennifer Cahill

He stood on such bandy legs, shaking,
I thought he would fall. His cigarette
Puffing like the grey white clouds above.

A lone heron flies high and jagged
Like the tips of the mountains
That brush this clouded sky, and surround the sea

Where our ship skims the shore with its
Light, a star rising from the blue black depths:
Can we wait until the sun sets?