Thacher Island

Framed against the tinted void
a haunted hull is searching directions;
the life of this breathing ship
is throbbing with strokes of absence.
Can you feel the violet hand stirring the air?
Do you hear the voice calling come back?
Can you still make out the failed lights,
two fading marks in the distance?
Don’t you see, only care
can shape such seascape of longing despair,
where in its hull, sailing the ocean of Time,
the frail soul fights abstraction.

Shahar Bram