Pickup Poem Day 18

Boat

Toot toot, I am half a tank

of diesel from the stateless damp.

Cling to a twig and become

mothered: Rock to sleep, learn chores

postpone death. Old bones

make the broth of departure

bracing deep, every time.

God gives his favorites a project,

a language, a difference. This vessel

is home, or how to find it.