One Foot Out of the Boat

ONE FOOT OUT OF THE BOAT The white hotel! “Clinic”, slips behind his dragging coat and shambled shirt He surprises himself once more; swallowing prescribed prescription freedom, From who knows best for both of them? It seems to be a mixture of minutes and many memories, A steep prominence takes his breath, plus the breath taking view, It sends him toxic, biting his hand for steady, but feels the red wetness seep through, One hand in the water; The suns morning is still, and bitter; in the finger chilling wind! And seeing cloudy like; two reflections swept by, in a green pool held by drowned seaweed Tangled in nylon line, rusty hooked; held, trapped, and separated! His home to the south west, painted in the glitter water is far; The salted soup; of sand and shell fragments foam; Painting the rocks, Washed up! Served relentlessly, each tidal day. He continues on, in small, unsteady, dark foot-steps! One foot out of the boat.