Confession

There was nothing left 

for me to do except take him to the edge 

of land

and see if he notices

what is missing

would he read the horizon lines

and turn the page?

Together we watched the boats

come and go

at the mouth

of the harbor

saying nothing 

of directions

like wind and gaze.

The further we went on 

drifting by degrees away,

where the edge becomes and end 

before us

anyway, a moment of stillness

Arose 

to this occasion

of reading-

The End.

Painting by Winslow Homer (1836-1910), 'Chindren on the beach' c. 1873 in Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.