a quiet sail
a breeze with eyes focus’d
straight ahead
destin’d to collide
into each other’s arms
a swim to enjoy
in anxious waters
or maybe to chase a lost ball
emblazon’d with the portrait
of a child kyodo
while dreams the steersman
of a cosmic night
with Twelve apostles
in his wake
rock together
beyond her maquillage
I listen
thru refrains of seasons
to her voices
an unfetter’d choir
ever-blending
ever-evolving
everlasting
I hope
at least
till my next call
its guests transmit’d
on a one-way ticket
to an unseen mystery
while failures of hi-tech
continue to enhance
the myth… or its veracity
(Photo– courtesy of Pat Stewart)
when the rain from thy words
laps upon me
the scent of thy voice
strokes my imagination
with the spectrum of darkness
that be thy peerless shadow
and I am awash with Light
knowledge for one’s enjoyment
with laid-back wonder
