Secrets of Maine islands, life working
Lobster traps, mirrored days reflecting
Clouds, gazing into still water, appearance
Of another me. At first, I ignored this other
Face, boat ripples in sloshing waves. From
Watery depths emerging, I gazed into liquid
Face and time, glanced away, she vanished.
Yet, I feel presence behind my eyes, not
Maine, but Greenland fiords, waters cold
And deep like off these spruce-clad islands,
Viking sailing ships, whale-paths, exploration,
Desire to sail west to fabled Vinland shores.
Plowing waves, windshield covered in spray,
“It’s Brithe, I am here,” she says. Depth of
Inner voices, lost part of myself, over droning
Diesel, we proclaim, “I am you, you are me.”
For moments, she takes the wheel then as
Quickly, she recedes, satisfied with living on
Cresting brine. Working Maine waters, I realize
This chance to live anew, Vinland of our soul.
Cup of coffee, I ponder life’s complexities,
School and career, solace found of open waves.
Mirrored days cloud reflecting, now and then,
Thousand years ago.
Poem of reflections: clouds and water-deep past lifetimes.