I have stepped onto shore of possibility,

of cool moisture,

and into a polite afternoon

where all other persons seem to have vanished.

Aware of the idea of the boat's position in the water,

where it is touched by the liquid displaced and

tightly wrapped around,

aware of the boat's movement, the slight keel

rolling down the slope of water,

dragging the bottom up and over.

I am thinking the sounds

of wood

moving over gravel:

of pebbles pressing into sand

pressing up and into the soft face of the boat.

Look up and

feel the moisture against your eyes.