After the Storm

After the storm 
And hounding waves,
The coastline changed.
I haven’t the memory
Of where rocks used to be
Or sand banks curved.
 
This boat has drifted
Further from shore.
In the mist, I peer
Over the edge to find
Sunken dark shadows and
A quivering reflection of myself.
 
The seagull’s long soliloquy
Echoes across a glass bay.
In my mind of fogged mirrors,
I squeak-rub clear patches
With my shirtsleeve
Only to catch my own eye.
 
Buoys scatter across the harbor.
I tie off my boat and follow,
Downward with my eyes,
The mucked chain 
Toward its foundation,
Dissolving into darkness.

The dVerse prompt for today, provided by Anmol, is to write a confessional.

The Anchor Sinks

The anchor sinks
 
            deep
 
 
                                    deep
 
 
 
 
                                                                        d
 
 
 
                                                                        e
 
 
 
                                                                        e
 
 
 
 
 
                                                                        p
 
and settles into the muck. It is mired there when the chain eventually (and inevitably) breaks away. The anchor remains for seven hundred and thirty-nine years, collecting barnacles and exposing the curiosities of fish.