The Crossing

by Gary H. Adams / October 20th, 2024

The morphine drip warms the pain away
She lays on the motion of breath
Slow-slow-slow breath, her eyes closed
Floating aimlessly now on white caps
Hovering above the mists of Niagara Falls
Navigating through an electrical brainstorm
Thoughts bobbing like the sargasso seaweed
Riding those white caps, wind howling in her ears
Light pulsating phosphorescence
Blinking eyes in the dark night
Standing on the edge of eternity
Staring at the ghosts of infinity
Waiting for the Magi to appear
Out of the fog of imagination
Sand pouring through the neck of the hour glass
Whirlpools and black holes sucking
Memories of love and pain
From her fading mind and dying passion
Into the dark, black, empty night
A tear falls from the fisherman’s moon
So gently, gently tonight…

Gary H Adams is a retired federal civil servant living in Illinois. He graduated from the U. S. Merchant Marine Academy and has sailed on merchant ships all over the world and worked on tugboats in New York harbor and the surrounding waterways. He has a Master of Library Science from the University of Oklahoma in1975 and has worked in academic and federal libraries until returning to sea in 1981. Upon returning to shore, he worked in transportation and logistics. He has had poems published in Alkahest: American College Poetry, Wesleyan University Press, 1969 and Ukraine: Light in the Darkness, compiled by Rodney Drought and Margaret Gudkov, 2022. Read other articles by Gary H..

This article was posted on Sunday, October 20th, 2024 at 8:00am and is filed under Poetry.