the feel of the world’s chaos,

 a distant serene violence, 

 like the grocery cart

with a wobbling wheel, 

rotating, off-kilter.


 grasping for the bowline

i struggle to draw the skiff

toward the smooth gray horizon,

as you tenderly pry the twine

from my knotted grip.



in the crook of your wing,

 my striving is submerged

in a gentle rhythm

 as the boat glides.


the Soul knows 

its course.


© M.G. Iannucci 2017

Photo: Sunrise on Yellowstone Lake

4 thoughts on “Driftwood

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