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