Yard Sale of Thoughts

If you could call anyone, past, present or future, who would it be?

Make believe that there’s a line,
I’ve crossed it now a thousand times.
It’s buried deep underground;
it rings, Hello, Hiya,
and then just sound.
It’s been forever,
just three days;
a trinity of time
to love-struck slaves
manning the oars
against wedded waves.
There’s chit-chat,
hours sail into days.
The boat’s unsteady
hearts capsize,
too swollen to bilge
the water’s rise.
We clearly see that there’s a line.
I’ll tow it now a thousand times.
The anchor of your voice
keeps me steady,
and when you need me,
I’m moored and ready.

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Artwork: Mike Worrall