The Old Sailors

On the green riverbank
age late fifties
I am beginning
to remind myself
Of my great uncle Desir
in the Virgin Islands
On a Saint Thomas back beach
he lived when I last saw him
in a small shack
under the palms
Eighty years old
straight as a Viking
(where the Danes once landed)
he stood looking out
over the flat sea
blue eyes or grey
salt upon his lashes
We
were always sea wanderers
No salt here

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