Often, I have found
a locus, a fly, a cockroach – dead, yet
whole on the ground
the body of the insect dry as a tomb
empty, like so many robbed graves
a Sailboat, a Motorboat, another Sailboat
each covered with tattered, weathered wings – a blue tarp
spread across its carapace
This strip of land is a place where dreams go to die,
good intentions to fix, repair, rebuild, reuse, Resurrect
Echo through the hollowed shells
that represent my father’s hallowed vision of
Better
Stray dogs without a home, make shelter where they can take it
Find food in others’ discarded remains of a meal
They howl, at something, somebody, into the wind
Cries so loud, so poignant
Unanswered
This is where dreams have died, and
Ships sailed long ago
Take in another stray – someday he might love you
the way he never could
