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by John Curtin

Stars twinkle while gliding atop a blackened mirror.

The only sense of movement, a wake trailing from your bow.

A slight blinking glint peering over the ridge in the eastern darkness reminds us the sailors guide stands guard still.

Winding through a thicket of pilings aligned like silent sentinels in the predawn, waiting to greet the sun's first gaze.

A tan and mottled baseball floating on the water becomes the inquisitive head of a Leatherback investigating this stranger.

The behemoths sit in their cradles as you pass close to the silver propellers and white hulls reflecting on the opaque darkness of the glass.

Snook gather in the reflecting lights waiting the wanderings of unlucky strangers.

Cat's eyes blink open on the horizons as people yawn and stretch to start their day.

A steal centipede rumbles in the distance, clanking across the river towards unknown destinations, whistling into the misty morning fog.

Birds take note as you approach their solitary roost, jumping to flight, northward to their morning world's prairies, thickets and meanderings that provide the needs of their day.

The sailor's guide now visible in the predawn, its light flashes across the sky, her singular pattern a welcoming handshake to the mariner.

Channel marker posts and shore's lights cast long reflections as the glass turns turquoise and growing ripples remind us of the tumult of dawn.

The sky splashes hints of orange on the underside of it's white fluffy wanderers.

A rainbows arch of morning travelers pass across the river. The hum turns to din as their abundance increases. I draw close and pass beneath as they bear their burdens towards nameless providence.

The river's work complete it merges before us with horizons vastness and vanishes in eternity's waters.

Keeping watch for 80 score on its lone mound the monolith's red hue now glows bright in the morning rays of the bluing sky. It's watchful eye now sleeps as ours accept the day.

.LOx morn