Ghosting rain hiding,
Seeking cloud stairs
Carpeted with
'Severe Weather Alert'...
Thundery, arced laughter.
Time and again.
Tides down one foot,
Up four...an hour
Passes. Up, up...
'Flood Gates Closing.'
Marine radio crunches
Voices. 'Brady Bridge!
Are you still there? '
'Come on, Captain...
You're almost home.'
Ghosting ships fast
Around that last bend...
And I...still, quiet,
Holding 'home' open.
It's just a job...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem