poem in progress

untitled and in progress

The bay water black now

laps against the small rocked shore.

Half a mile upwind the geese and ducks,


the trumpeter swans discuss the day’s events,

a waterfowl cocktail party.


I am still sitting on the deck boards,

my belly, shoulders, chest and back remember

the afternoon sun. My book tired head


Still cool from slipping under

the bay’s blue shine at dusk forty minutes ago

My legs full of air and the slight ache


from too much swimming and my long walk this morning.

I stretch them out. Place my palms

flat on the dark red wood of the old deck.


Ten feet nearer the bay,

the bold, male fox stands on the retaining wall,

listens for the field mice


in the tall, wild grass that runs out to the water.

Then a firefly appears, blinks out, moves on,

winks again, is joined by three more.


They flash and dart, signalling the code

for sleep, for dreams.


-Oct.28, 2010-


Author: William J. Gibson

62 year old - writer/photographer Canadian, survived open heart surgery, received kidney transplant, sometimes dour, sometimes amusing, over six feet in height, severely follicle challemged

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