She stands facing out toward
a boat — not a small boat
either but not quite a ship —
waiting for it to dock.

If she were to turn around
and look inland she could see lights
of a town — not a small town
either but not quite a city.

Depending on which way
she walks
she will choose
to go to one.

She will choose
either comfortable fear or comfortable
misery — one from unknown lands
she will reach across

water to find, one from
returning to what
she has known
for many years.

I am kept dark to her choice
until she makes it and then
I will stop sitting idle and choose —
go with her one way or another, or stay put.

Cross my fingers and draw
a circle on my chest —
but it doesn’t matter
that much to me.

Not by half
as much as a wave
against a dock
or a car horn far inland.

Not by half
as much as lying down right now
and putting myself on idle,
waiting for this all to pass.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
onward,
T