Slow Boat Ride

It carries me

over an ocean of frosted glass

with the flags of every wild season

hoisted high by gardens of clouds,

children of love in a Godless universe

and then suddenly

 

                                                                                                space

 

enough to sustain the appetite of the entire future 

to accommodate every chance,

every possibility that could open

into a poem or coffin

 

                                                                                                space

 

to release dreams from bubbling white froth

that spills and spits for miles,

enticing the self into a momentary absence

like an overdue reverie

spreading its impression all over the horizon

with nature as a float

anchoring you still,

holding your deepest meditation with bridal fingers

if only its darling be ephemeral. 

 

I have seen you all do it

men of fortune and misfortune,

the loveless and the spoilt

I have seen the majesty of the ocean

captain your busy minds

setting free its sail to voyage the waters of your hearts;

 

I have seen those hopeless flatterings

in the lonely nets of the fishermen at dawn,

in the languid stroll of the deep peasant

in the heavy stare that searches for the eyes of eternity

 

I become filled with                                                                         space;

 

Laying my existence on the fingertip of a wave,

as a raindrop that falls into the veins of a dry rose,

as the infant sparkle that ignites an idea,

as the sorrow that fills the old bells in winter,

with all those black stars that lost their famous constellations

I become part of all that is missed.