the slow, tapering boats bobbed and nodded
their nudging scrapes punctured the silence, and the ghost sighed
he liked their restless noise, the feeble signs of life in his cheerless marina
the boats were proof
they were his proof of life, promising future animation and presence of spirit
because the boats were still there, he knew he hadn’t been abandoned
as long as there were boats, there would be people
come morning, come amber to chase away the blue-black miasma, the people would return
he liked when the people came
they were loud and untethered and they would take the boats far, far away
he had to stay behind, though, and this was hard
but they always came back
it was getting harder each day for him to stay, and the tissue paper fibers of his body were starting to fade and gray at the edges
but he had to stay
because when the people came, he knew life hadn’t stopped
with or without him the world was still turning
he didn’t have to leave it yet
he could stay and listen to his steely, creaking lullaby until time came to snatch him away
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