Reflection

This will not answer the question

at the end of my dock

there is a small boat

bobbing

up and down

left, then right

it floats and bobs

all day and all night

when the tide is low

it rolls in the shallow ripples.

But I never pull the boat.

It is never out to dry.

The boat is ringed in green-gold late summer marsh grass,

all year long.

Year after year.

The boat is waiting

for a passenger,

for a rower.

bobbing, rolling, slapping

at the end of my dock.