Drifting Poem by Brett Rogers

I found my way home
On a straight line
Of cigarette butts,
Stitched across America’s chest,
Colored yellow, green, and blue.

Two fishermen in a wooden boat
Dodged the intermittent sunbeams,
And searched for power
In the echo of my rusted machinery.
I dreamt of you walking there,
Parallel to their dawn hunt,
Smiling at the purity of the moment
And the ease of the clouds on your eyes.
You saw me staring
And I crashed and drowned.