Voyage
By Charles Pierre
I first heard the call of wind and wave
on the unlettered shores of Centerport,
where cold silence and polite reserve
were anchored in the faces of locals,
where my tidal need for a voice
swept me from our sheltered harbor
to the voluble streets of Manhattan,
where speech and salt air flow as one,
where the daily work of shaping words,
from dawn starts to starlight corrections,
is a line-by-line voyage through image
and phrase, an uncharted sailing away
from my mute early life, toward home
in the sea-borne sounds of a new poem.
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