Your life is full of boats, small craft
in various levels of disarray and decay.
Paint flickering into the water,
the native wood peeking through in snippets,
rarely perfect, always in a state of repair,
still able, however, to cross the water,
About this poem
The older I get. The more I listen, the more I learn that more of us are broken in more ways than most of us think possible. And yet, we carry on.
Be gentle, friends. Be gentle.
PS: The picture was taken in Venice. When I was there last, I took about a zillion pictures of the boats around the canals, not knowing why, just knowing they resonated with me. These small craft have become a metaphor for so much in my life. Were I to go there again (and there are plans), I would likely take more.