Skilled Hands
 
pull on knotted ropes,
and the ship flies across the sea’s back,
 
pushed by a magical wind.
No one is standing
 
on the cliff
to watch us sail toward shore.
 
How strange this silence
on a sunny afternoon.
 
Absence greets us
like a smile that has frozen in place.
 
Worried and scared.,
we wonder if we’ve arrived too late
 
with our stories and wine.
Nothing moves.
 
Even the sea birds are gone,
and in the distance the citadel glitters and burns.

Steve Klepetar


If you have any thoughts on this poem,  Steve Klepetar would be pleased to hear them.