A Year of Poems – Day 333

Flashing scales, the movement as fins flail fast,
Sailing, as they can, from shore to island,
Casks float adrift, white caps driven by wind,
Waves lost, wandering like a battered fish,
The ocean cruel as currents lost from charts,
Yet we plot as we can, plodders through storms,
Boots pressing through the puddles, mud shifting
over prints. The current comes, the fish flash,
the mud lies flat as time without the boon of memory.

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