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A harbor from long ago

By James Conway Westenhaver / November 19, 1982



I saw a marvelous light on a small boat's mast and thought it was your smile keeping the clouds away, a harbor from long ago when men had only their nets to mend by the fire of your presence in touch with quiet.

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And then the day came to me, long after dawn. What was I to busy myself with? All the boats had put to sea years ago. Storms came and went, leaving old moorings beyond repair. And nets? The impressions left to embers. And then a smile crossed my face: the rest of my life.