Unmoored

I am unmoored. Untied. Released
to the seas. To the tides and currents,
a boat adrift, somewhat by choice,
or choices perhaps, time and fate come to roost,
content for a while to let someone else
choose my progress, or lack of it – fates
or gods or perhaps one very busy God
stirring the waters as I, tired of fighting,
float.

Not my way, floating. I am made for winds
and rudders and a fixed point in the distance.
A destination. A place to be
and a path to get there. But
the truth is, such purposefulness is wearing
and at times I need to simply let go,
to be in charge of nothing. Not even my own
life and love.

There is rest in the drift, sorely needed
and hard to claim when one is rowing
or timing sails. So, I drift. Not forever.
No, my nature will take hold again eventually,
when the rest has done its work. And yes,
I will likely have to work the harder
for this brief time of surrender. But no matter,
the tranquility brings strength enough
to claim the day.

Just not this one.

About this poem.

I am about to take a few days off next week to go to Cape Cod and be… nothing. No one. I need times like that.. Not a lot of them – a few go a long way. Disappearing, it seems, is good for me.

Tom

PS: The picture was taken on the docks in Provincetown, Mass.