The Innisfree Poetry Journal
www.innisfreepoetry.org
by Davide Trame
LASTING
Big barge, full of sand to the brim, now it leaves in the sunlight from the new causeway they are building, from the loud scattering of stones on stones. It leaves, it’s time, it’s noon, the spacing stillness of midday arrives, and the bright silent breeze, the sweeping breath of the sea only.
But the barge is heavy and slow, it can’t be in a hurry. And you like its way of leaving after all, maybe it’s not leaving at all. It looks almost still, it’s what you would like to be, a gaze standing, never ending like the sound of its engine drone,
what you know of silence: while a white-rimmed wake widens behind the stern the air’s sunlit throat hums holding its breath effortlessly and the horizon is always far off.
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