Waiting for the tide

[Keith]

Edit 3

As old as the grain,
I sit lacquered to my seat
and dust for fingerprints
on the plumb curve of a merlot.
Ripping fresh crusty bread
like a sea dog with a sock.


Edit 2
With emery cloth hands
dusted like a weight-lifter's,
I smooth out crafted curves
and blow gently with the grain,
billowing thoughts of summer sails.