A Ship in a Bottle, the Return of the Light

A tiny ship alone on a shelf finds itself
once again born from shadow’s
memory of a time where his hands

longed to reach up hold this miracle
a ship in a bottle forever encased
with masts raised in the night

under a dusty desk lamp.
Rough hands made tender by delicate
placements in glass.

On the floor with clunky wood trucks
and trains he was silenced
by the weight of the moment

when masts were raised
gently tugged by a thread
between thick fingers.

Then slowly the ship set sail
in his imagination
and in his hands now rests.

Hands smooth and used to
keeping books, not sails and ropes
and nets, holds this treasure.

The sun begins to move up. Within
that tiny glass bottle his heart rides
the waves, feels the wind

knows him who now sails the seas
outside time and memory. Stares into
early morning rays. Remembers

harrowing tales of ghost ships
and crushed limbs. Becomes
lost in the swells lit with the light

returning to the dark ocean waters
shining on the early morning calm
bringing him back from the storm.

© 2012 Joanne Elliott

To Dream of Crows

Colm Meaney asks why we are not on the beach.

Our companion says there are too many crows.

Colm says it doesn’t matter; they are coming down

like the rest of us.

I wake to a myriad of caws as crows sweep the morning sky.

My companion does not hear them for he speaks online

about the world and how it will end in a blanket of smoke

with bodies burnt but unpicked by fallen crows.

© 2012 Joanne Elliott

Sky Canvas

Morning reaches out of darkness
hovers on the horizon
graces sky with light.

In that moment I am the dawn
that breaks open night.

Sky a blush of pink
streaked clouds burned onto
pale gray canvas.

Shades of color blend
light bends and shoots
between crooked evergreens.

In that moment I am the sun
etched on eternity.

Then the giant glides higher
becomes too bright
for mere mortal spheres.

© 2012 Joanne Elliott