Those days were our wishes streaking,
arcing lazily through the summer dawn.
The timid, moon-sad child within me
attempted to steer the raft and hide from the
blazing sunrise-ship of a shining being, who also dwelled within.
Criss-crossing my fragile wake over the rivers of Night,
never knowing my waterways contained both
little vessels that this one and that one
would sail by each other in,
sometimes waving as if to a ghost we want back,
and sometimes blind to the dual nature
of the foaming green seas of my self.
The rudderless little raft sails on, swirls along the lullabyes of starfields,
high and on fire with
a beautiful sadness, wrapped in the calming
armor of Night, so barnacled by time and grief,
buoyant and unseen by the brutal eyes of the
faceless mariner who steers a shining ship
all through the fears of my bright and burning days.
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