THE DREAMERS poem

The Dreamers

a hand grasps
dory boat’s rim,
swaying
with current’s carousing
swell, the water
licking at his boots

little boy, sea-salting
on your lips
stand tall and proud
as a sailor’s ship

his other hand wards off
Cobequid Bay’s spray
eyes seeking out truths
only adults seem to know, he
wants to learn badly –
he wants to know

little boy
lost in thought
scanning incoming tide’s
patient rise

…smile
I am that little boy, too

© Richard L. Provencher 1990

first published June 1990 TYRO
Number Twenty-Six
Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario
ISSN 0836-4346