I buried the blades
rowing East to West.
Creating closeness,
making distance.
Each natural wonder
forgot away
peace of you.
And in the thundering
plague of Montana crickets-
you were no more
than a hurricane
to a rowboat.
A great heart wind took me
Pacific North to South.
I hailed your ship
and pushed through the silent Aye
of the needle of the Golden City,
out to sea searching
for Elysium Isles.
Loves' mercurial compass
charts all fools an odyssey
and so I arrive at your port
moonburned and thirsty.
No comments:
Post a Comment