Waiting for Jon to return, words came to me and I scribbled them down:


flotsam at the edge
of vision, a red splinter
lost in mist, so frail:

a mere fingernail paring!
how can it hold half my heart?

Meanwhile, on his way back, Jon took a couple of nice pictures of Full Moon, which you see here. Then we left, running through patches of fog and patches of open water; radar on, radar off; Full Moon riding easily over the low, slow swell, closing eventually with the coast again.
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