Charons Sheets- Night Owls Lament Ii
I wait for the boat to come
from the far shore of the sky
across the tree tops
right up to the side of my window
where I sit, looking out
my eyes as glazed and shining as pieces of silver.
If the boatman asks for coins,
I have them ready.
Two quarters
copper peaking out along the edge between their silver skins.
It isn’t much.
Less than a load of laundry.
I guess Charon’s sheets never need to be washed.
How peaceful it must be
to row away
watching one’s room fade into the distance
the sound of the trees softly snoring in the breeze
unaware no one will be there to climb them tomorrow.
How peaceful it must be
to drift away
over the world
the highway slipping far away
the sound of haste softening into memory.
How peaceful it must be
to come to the edge of the clouds
and stick one’s foot out
and leave no prints behind.
Copyright © Jack Webster | Year Posted 2019
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