he was
a rusted buoy
sitting
on the dock
staring out at the sea
in which he
happily bobbed
for years

the salt has
pitted
his skin
with blemishes
no circular grinder
could hope to
recover

the noble death
the one he would
have chosen
if given a
voice
would be to sink
beneath the waves
to rest
in the graveyard of
nautical pursuits
the sunken ships
still leaking oil
untapped
barrels of rum
gold doubloons
darting shadows
dark
against
dark

the noble death
denied
he sits
watching the sunrise
the gulls cry
the albatross circles
far
from land

what is a
buoy
removed from the sea
but a rusted dream
gone dead

what is a
man
removed from his dream
but a rusted buoy
watching the sea