Moored Boats In a Foffy River

A slow twist of an invisible slide and the hulls again escape, drop down into the morning haze, return as gray gulls rising. The moored boats slip in and out of the fog as easily as ocean legends then come back painted by a distant sea. Sinking or flying the small craft slip through a sky only as wide as the river, but when they return they ship water last seen in a shipwrecked teacup.