8 Oars of Sleep
       

One of cedar
sanded smooth,
pierced with iron,
notched, and grooved.

One in sunlight
dipped and waved.
One of willow
wept—in shade.

One curved and tender
draught of spice.
One adamantine
arctic slice.

One a stick
to catch a stream—
the crooked pole
of lazy dream.

One the raft
of rescue's wing.
One the splash
of drowning things.

Of all life's measures
I shall keep
only these
8 oars of sleep.

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Copyright © 2016 R. Nemo Hill All rights reserved
from In No Man's Ear
Dos Madres Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission