With the morning frost lighting the porthole
In the first rays of sun, I sat and watched
The reflection on my cup of coffee.
In the steam, I tried to imagine my
Daughter holding a sandwich and sitting
Across from me sharing a meal at the
Old card table where I had eaten so
Many times alone. I pulled my scarred hand
Out of my pocket and warmed my fingers
On the cup before I took the first sip
To shake off the lingering grip of dreams.
The day was much calmer than last night when
The wind bumped the boat against the dock and
Rocked me to sleep in fitful remembrance.