Boat

If I could

I'd grace whatever good fortune

with pieces of a smile

I borrowed at an early age

(never owing a return)

burning themselves

deeply into lines

on my face

which finally become

clear

in the calm water.

A map

unfolds to me,

staring back,

detailed

way before

I had the slightest inkling

that I

may one day

need to know

my route.

And as I

return

fragments

settle briefly

on the surface

around me

before sinking

into the immenseness

of eternity.

Feast

"It requires wisdom to understand wisdom; the music is nothing if the audience can't hear it."

Walter Lippman

... rendering moments of steady progress

moot while they

interfere with my trepidations...

How far has this unwanted ally

traveled,

so unknowingly,

with me?

It seems I am a host

for a multitude of

cynicisms,

not the least a wariness

specifically

inclined

per the moment,

this way and that.

And what is that

which is

carried along the banks of

my tumult?

A promise

of peace?

Hah! As I kick it back,

cursing,

into the mad

currents from which it was

spat.

The forgotten

visage

of promises made

floats, toes up,

sideways in the eddy.

But, blessedly, there are always

the hands,

stealthily

adjusting their grip...

I can feel them...

solo

  That's it for the other one...

Cerise sky.

The highway 

blends into a dream

almost perfectly...

 I forgot to

question the stranger

who frequently sits

over near the door,

watching the building across the street.

He lies so eloquently

through his tears, that 

I almost wish he'd stay.

Leaves like boats now

wend their way,

sliding through a puzzle effortlessly

as time

silently squeezes

something in my heart

and I wish to

become invisible

and ride along.