On the deck.

I´m back on the deck and my furry mops wet from a bucket of my own sweat.
I´m broad across the sea, Tall on land, slowly I forget all they took from me.
Slowly my head raises to witness the sunrise.
This new morning on the small lipped waves that pretend they weren´t here for me.
keeping me far from the rocks keeping the boat steady as I mop it down.
These old wooden boards remind me of your face on a day without menace.
They remind me how such support can also give you splinters.
I´ll be washing them, like I was washing an old invalid who can´t raise his own arms, weeks from his deathbed.
The soap gets in my eyes and slowly I shrink as my sweat disappears.
Me on the Deck, will Gavin forgive me? Will Peter have let it all go...
Oh, the islands in sight and the floors almost scrubbed...
Alas I am but a puddle flowing toward the edge and dripping off into a brave sea.