By John Pearson
I am the man-length canvas
pulled out of store, strung between
grey bulkheads ready to still
the pitch and roll of any ship.
I am a solitary place
a cocoon to relieve
the last watch’s weariness.
I am a lying sick bed
and even a second skin
wrapped around a dead sailor.
stitched up by a leathered hand
and shipped to a salinic grave.
Photography by Moshe Tasky.
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