When I stumble on the gunwales, now and then
Come visions of missing the handrail some wave:
Of treading water, cold seeping inward,
Watching my boat drive on driverless.
(Regretting I could never train it
To come when I whistled.)
Treading water with that ship receding
The only dot of heat on the horizon.
Wondering just what I’d say to myself
In that last wet conversation.
:: John Skapsi, in Going for Coffee (1981)
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