Patrick Cook
“…a calm darkens among water lights.”
Anchored, the ship strains, turns slowly.
Light-worms shimmy, writing
a message only fish can read.
On the fantail I watch as
dock lights focus to pinpoints,
harbor finally smooth.
Parachute flare behind Monkey Mountain
burns white, winks out. Another rises,
blooms, begins its fall.
Jagged rocks at harbor mouth
ghostly in starlight. I’d sail through them
on a raft if it were headed home.
Patrick Cook is a retired postal worker. He has been writing off and on most of his life, but only in the last 15 years has he gotten serious. His poetry has appeared in Muscle and Blood, Parody, and About Place. His prose pieces have been published in The MacGuffin and RKVRY.