A line, stranded on the page of a notebook, used sometime, but never fitting. Day 14 and this is where the writing slows, the initial burst has faded to searching for the next piece. The prompts bring nothing and time gets short. Waiting for the words to appear so this can carry on, I will go for a walk and try to find something.
It Was Just a Trick of the Light.
Soon there is nothing but the sea,
enough of a swell to rock the boat,
to swing the small crowd of schoolchildren
from side to side in a John Wayne swagger.
A window seat as France sails away from us,
though we both watch passing passengers
and drink coffee in the morning sun.
Pale skin, long fingers holding the book
you’re not reading. That smile in the shadow
of your face, the look in your eyes, was it just a trick
of the light reflecting from the water around this morning?