The Comfort Of Worry Beads

The Comfort of Worry Beads

When the shadows of the afternoon fell
Across the bow of his shell,
He knew he was lost.
He oared the Sound,
Turning in the direction from which he had come.
He remembered the chain of islands
He had passed on his row out.
And as he began to repass them,
He fashioned each island in his mind
A bead on a string he prayed
Would navigate him
Home.

Philip Kuepper