A Poem by Lance Sheridan

of a run aground ship and winged crows

marked depth of saltwater by a
yardstick in inches,
storm clouds receding like
playground children
into secret places, oak timber
painted white
painted red
ran aground in a mist,
in a rainy fog, crew abandoned...
fallen sails and 
mitered joints left
to rot in mud, on a forgotten
shore, winged crows 
to nest in a timbered mast,
reeds grab and choke
the oxygen 
out of splintered wood,
last breath taken, gasping,
choking...
a trickle of saltwater,
then a torrent, canvas hoisted
by an updraft, 
sets sail, no longer moored,
crows cast adrift 
in flight, wings like
oars in clouds.