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Davy Jones’ Locker, Hans von Bülow's baton

Ever since I was a kid I felt sad for buoys
out in the middle of the ocean day and night
It must get so lonely out there
First cool breeze in late August
brushing through trees and dead wood leaves
Wind through the branches sounds like ocean waves
Rolling green tides and birds chirp
Through the blinds I watch the spiraling silhouettes
flickering like a dancing flame
I hear bubbles popping in a tall glass of seltzer
I hear news on an AM radio from the bedroom
I hear the whir of a ceiling fan in the kitchen
and Venetian blinds rocking back and forth
like a deck of cards being fanned tightly underneath my thumb
like the slow motion of an old boat docked
wood slowly creaking on the bow
back and forth
all in one motion
side to side everything goes
moving together
as the wind blows
orchestrating it all
like von Bülow's baton