Archive | June 2010

Messenger in the Bottle

Unmoored and empty
I watch the water-brown eye
Through green glass
As bent-kneed I place
The compass, the sextant, the map
In his right hand.

With vanity and lonely hands
I charted my course by faded stars
And steered the vessel
Straight into the rocky shoals.

Now raw-nerved and bleached-white bone
I am sunken in my seabed.
But the moon looks down
As he fills me with his silver light.
And through these waves—
One hand on the wheel—
He guides me back to port.

Advertisements