Wishing the loose canoe home


World, so cold, so old,

no obligation


for your soul. If we say

we are worth nothing


often enough, would we begin

to believe, maybe give up


rhythmic dip of paddle

splitting Lake Lorraine in half,


drift toward

a different shore? Or would we lean


into each stoke, hope

of coming home


before the purple storm

could close?

                              Timothy Pilgrim