the boats, the boats, my wooden boatsnnwere never meant to drynnwhat is a boat that cannot floatnnand rots from air and sky?nnnni nailed a sheet, i named it twicenni waited on the spitnnfor wind, for wind, some kind of windnnto come and sail with itnnnnthis is my boat, my favorite boatnni built it with my handsnnand on its shell, my earthly hullnni have become a mannnnnsome are washed and ground ashorennsome get thrown by tidennbut this new world of mold and smellnnit simply drowns my pridennnnand in the wake, i am awakennwith no one to take the helmnnand what i built with labor hardnngrows still and soft and calmnnnnwe turn the cheek, we try to hopennfor boats from other shoresnnand in the end we are alonennwho are we to hope for morennnnsome are washed and ground ashorennsome get thrown by tidennbut this new world of mold and smellnnit simply drowns my pridennnnthe boats, the boats, my wooden boatsnnwere never meant to drynnwhat is a boat that cannot floatnnand rots from air and sky?