Thursday, October 16, 2014

Thirty Two

"One doesn't discover new lands without consenting to lose sight of the shore for a very long time."
—Andre Gide

What have you found, now
I've kept you far from shore
These six or seven years or more?

We've floated north, floated south,
Seen the distal constellations shift,
Seasons reverse, sea in our mouths.

Dream, the mixed forest, gathers
The light of the mountains, a green
Fire you once said you'd rather

Trade for red and open outback.
Every traveler has a right to change
Her mind. I doubt that

You thought you'd find, fishermaid,
Your blue-eyed intensity in the desert
Weird of a small, blonde mermaid.

But I don't know. You are your own
Universe coasting over open worlds.
We sail together and we sail alone.

Night's depths are never ours. Light
Spans the story of her dark; love,
Across oceans, pulls her cross-starred kite.

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