I awoke in the pitch of night.
A ghost ship on the horizon.
It’s horn resonating against melting glaciers.
I make binoculars with my hands.
My ear pressed to the glass.
A gentle symphony weaves through the air.
Apparitions dance along icebergs.
They pause when they see me.
I wave. They smile.
I watch as their ship anchors to the bottom of the sea.
An understanding that they won’t make it to the city.
Now I question them for dancing,
But they insist it’s for the memories.
Created: Nov 13, 2012Document Media