Leaning with arms crossed on the rusting old rails of the pier
as a lone white sail on a great blue sea
tacks out toward a sparkling horizon,
my longing trailing in its wake,
I feel the bow spray like a heart's desire
in the soul's old hollowed out space.
I feel something massive gathering itself;
I feel something break like the sea.
Why does the earth sway under my feet
when there are so many things left to be done?
Why now this vision, so crisp and so clear,
as finally just one more untimely departure?
Tim Hawkins has lived and traveled widely throughout North America, Southeast Asia and Latin America, where he has worked as a journalist, technical writer, communications manager, and teacher in international schools. He currently lives in his hometown of Grand Rapids, Michigan. His writing has appeared most recently in The Flea, Lucid Rhythms, The Pedestal Magazine, Shot Glass Journal and Underground Voices, and is forthcoming in Blueline, Iron Horse Literary Review, The Midwest Quarterly, 13 Miles from Cleveland and Verse Wisconsin.