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October 2013, vol 9, no 3

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Francis Masat


A Return

Kayaking in late evening, I realize as the sun sets that I haven't a watch ─ nor a compass. Stopping to assess my course, I soon realize that I have come too far.

Drifting in the hint of a rising moon, a gentle swell eases through the moment and breaks on moss covered mangrove roots. Moments later, the same... again... again.... In the gloaming of a brightening moon, I pick a direction and begin to paddle. The heavens and I begin to pass the night together.

on the salt flats ─
the way the surface shifts
in the moonlight

In the middle of a mangrove creek, a leaf spins under a moving shadow ─ a different sort of nightlife here. Hours later, on a small curling wave, the glow of first light shines through a clump of seaweed.

boat landing
reflecting on gray-black waves
a solitary light




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