hoarding silence

This rickety old boat drifts on a wide and slow river, 

a river that bends into the blue sky. 

The boat floats past the village on the far bank, 

with the people and the little marketplace. 

Time is nothing. The boat drifts on, 

past the evergreen trees of the pine woods 

and on into the white and fluffy clouds. 

james lee jobe

Cows in the Evening, a poem by Ni…