I own one harbor
where vessels seek refuge
from rough waters,
where jittered sails
find a calm shore
to unload
merchandise from
a transcontinental route.

My harbor
cooks to fill an empty stomach
dries to warm a shivering body
sings to loosen the stiff and weary.

I am a seafarer, and I own one harbor.
My harbor is my mind,
from which
I dream and set sail
map out unfamiliar marine
captain whirlpools, rain or shine
though weather-beaten,
glam and vibrant always.

My harbor-
I find a bed of roses.

Mast tall and sail taught
I am anchored before the next voyage.
The seafarer is able
only because
my harbor harbors.



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