Regatta

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 of a shining being, who also dwelled within.

Criss-crossing my fragile wakes over the rivers of Night,

never knowing my waterways contained both

little ships 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 boat sails on, 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 these bright days.