Aqueous light traps the cruise ship off Icy Strait Point. The ship’s log is knotted in time. Last one on the tender, you gladly endure salt water and wind for this gift of passage, wave’s end. A rusty chain, half-hung lock an open gate. You walk where love is air letting go memory of all other ports. (...)
Poetry
Where Love Is Air
—Kathleen Gunton
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