No man is an island
He is one in an armada of friend-ships
Sailing with the seafarers he encounters on
this moody sea of relations.
My fleet is small
Too many acquaintances have been blown out to sea
winds filling their sails with withering time
carelessly drifting to discover other groups
Sometimes, we spot one another
Lower the anchor to say “hi”
wave, exchange casual words
Upon seeing members of their new fleet,
its anchors aweigh, and they sail on.
As for my remaining friends,
They hold the expertise
to navigate the shark-fin waves of life
I trail along, at moments stranded
but they always come back, true and loyal allies
My fleet is small, but
it has been beaten down to those few
those who I can depend on during a storm.