Amidst a boundless ocean, I,
To the edge of it must sail,
Keeping company with a tawny finch,
Against slates of zealous gale.
The woman I was was not myself,
She was sure as seasoned wood.
Built of wind and tides and timeless things,
As the earth on which she stood.
In a boat of pleated parchment,
We sailed two lifetimes and a day,
En route to the line where sky fell upon sea,
‘Til paper hull found weak estate.
A stretch of land at the edge of the world,
Where lightbulbs and memories die,
Made of lost buttons that wash up on shore,
Gradually falling into the sky.
She spoke in warm silence with her toes on the edge,
A dream spun of sugar and pearl,
The keeper of keys whose locks are all broken,
Who stands at the edge of the world.
The balsas were weathered with sea salt and brine,
baring paintings of overthrown kings,
But she was young, made of orchids and innocence,
And other lovely and delicate things.
She spoke without words about love and regret,
About summer, and things that are sweet,
Then she looked at me through the eyes of twin hurricanes,
And the ground opened up at my feet.
This one is about a dream I had. It’s part of a collection of mine titled “Of Orchids and Innocence, and other Lovely and Delicate Things.” The collection is about the fragility of childhood innocence, and looking for stability in your life as you are confronted with a world of new emotions.
Beautiful ink!
fantastic poem, especially the line ‘sure as seasoned wood’. really good use of language and takes you on a journey I love.