Sailor Song

The line on your forehead
was the horizon I sailed for
in that hour before I woke.
I journeyed over
agate bays that seemed
to shimmer in your eyes
but you were always a day
beyond under changing skies.
An haranguing wind
began to batter the sails,
as the hour blackened
into a September gale.

Far away from harbor,
I began to ignore
the salt spray of tears
and the distance grown unclear.

I rode out of the Strait
into the frothing peaks and valleys
of an angry Pacific.
In this insanity,
the memory of you
was the one direction
that seemed to be real
about my destination.
When the sea slowed,
I woke in my quiet bed
to a gray wall of clouds
edged by a morning gold.

Far away from harbor,
I began to ignore
the salt spray of tears
and the distance grown unclear.

1980/2009