Jun 042015
 
 
My paper boat the page
Without paddle without wind
Moves through worlds strange as faces:
I winch up my anchor of solitude
And sail into oceans of others.

Barefoot among the stars
I dance with the constellations,
Face to face with their blankness,
At home among the spaces
And anonymities of time.

Since the beginning of when
On past tomorrow's tomorrow
When suns are all dying of sorrow,
Out of kilter with places,
No face do I know for my own.

My kite a scribbled sheet
With a glued cross for a spine,
A diamond to find the wind's direction
And be blown on out of time,
I feel the tug of your heat.

Strange have been my travels, dear, 
Through countries of the sky, 
Through seas of galloping strangers,
Through time's riddling lie.
Strange have been my travels, dear. 

But time at last is wise, and I 
Return to counties dear and near,
Return to anchor where my page began:
To ponds and lilies of your eyes,
At home in the home of your hand.

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