The water pools as the tide falls away.
You have stood here since before the dawn,
cold in the winter wind, aware
that the February sun will warm nothing.
It is an empty orb this time of year,
bright and frigid, an evil tease
of a spring far further way than the calendar pretends.
You are willing to pretend along with it, so deep is your need
to take the abstract art of your life
and make something of it, to see somehow, God’s plan
that often seems out of reach except for tantalizing hints,
just enough order to make you believe there are no mistakes,
Perhaps that is it. Perhaps we travel someone else’s seas,
every turn of the wind there to teach us no more
than how to trim the sails, how to adjust to wind, tide and current,
how our compass saves us, if only we have the courage to trust.
About this poem.
This was supposed to be a long poem, but the dang things have a mind of their own.
About sailing, if you like. About life. About God. About lessons in life. About our core values. A lot of geography for a shortish poem. I hope I did the muse justice. This morning, it’s all I got.
Off to make a living,
PS – the picture was taken in Rye, New Hampshire.