531. noah

shift slowly with the sea

stable like driftwood

along the distant line where

the atlantic and the sky meet

it’s certainly not california

or the mountains in the east,

it’s not what elvis sang about

or the local lore of whiskies.

but the early morning light

the little bit of salty peace

in between the tired eyes

and rum-soaked friendship,

it’s worth writing home about

wherever that may be.