MindSpinner

May 2004

At first you were a shore
I could swim to
if I were strong and brave.
There would be white sands,
deep shade,
blue waters,
succulent fruit,
the two of us,
and up above
a spray of stars
a moon of pearl.

Then I saw, yet swimming,
that you were
a boat instead,
your hull higher than
the reach of my hands,
not a stationary shore at all.
Only as I fell
behind did I glimpse
your sail aloft;
only when you were a speck
did I understand that
you were ever onward
sailing away.

At last I saw you from above,
not the boat but curled within,
your hand stubborn on the rudder
and just as brave as I,
the old man and the sea.

Now I will be the healing salt
you rub on your hands
and the memory
that forms the tear
you drink for thirst
when you look beside
your boat to see
the carcass of dreams
devoured.
I will be the soft-fingered breeze
never dying
that caresses you
unceasing
in every lonely place.

In my fondest prayers,
I have it wrong again,
and you will find the happiest
shore beside the bluest sea
yet still
- if I may be selfish
just this one more time -
sometimes
remember me.

Godspeed.