At dawn, a man in a skiff
rests upon water so still
it forgets to ripple.
He is only a silhouette—
a quiet line
between sky and reflection.
No oar breaks the surface.
No word crosses the air.
Light gathers slowly
around his unmoving form.
The horizon opens its pale eye,
and the boat floats
between two mornings—
one above,
one below.
He does not fish for answers.
He does not row toward meaning.
He simply sits
where water and light meet.
In that suspended hush,
man, skiff, and dawn
become a single outline—
dark against brightness,
present without effort,
carried without leaving.
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