The Blind Boat

Grey are the clouds. Grey is the sun


As silent as a game of Dumb Charades


The wind strangles a silent howl


Lest they think she is awake



The blind boat vanished last night


We rummaged the alleys of silver city


A giant umbrella over our wet heads


A reluctant Nakata on our side



Somebody on the corner street whispered


‘A pretty red polka dotted umbrella’


Flattered but shy to admit so


We mumbled some gibberish prayers



Maybe the stupid finder of lost cats


Can talk to storm-torn boats


We suspect more since he says he can’t


For we know boats are cursed cats



To the south of the river of mirrors


We thought we saw a red sail


But the blind boat could not have dared


To look at its own face

There was a sudden movement in his dull eyes

As if he had heard an old lost song

Believing. Disbelieving. It amused us

But assured. We sighed and returned