I love docks
I love the smell of them
fish and sweat and creosote.
I love the coils of rope
the old crates that held crabs
the stink of old shrimp nets.
I love walking on a dock
the cracks between the boards
where you see the shaded water
lapping below you -
the feeling that you could,
if you really tried,
levitate over the green salt water
or plunge into the briny river
and breathe easy with the fish.
A mystical exension of Mother Earth
made of old boards and rusty nails -
a dock takes us to the lonely shrimpboats
with their silent shabby beauty
leading to the universe of the sea,
the endless possibilities within us all.
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