Disembark

in deepest night
we struck out west;
now under this candle sun
we have built a home:
our walls are good cedar, our rafters pine,
and our bed is green and new;
gentle oak, you are like him;
like so he leans, mirrored branches
over sun washed vacant shores,
and like so he bleeds, deep red leaves
in the kisses of our knitted oars.




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