Chase stars in a coal-black night.
The sun, retired, bequests a crisp shimmering breeze beneath
an ebony canopy, spurring lights that flicker and sparkle.

No ambivalence remains,
the tide is out, and the river allows no return,
twisting its way over shoals shrouded during the high time.

The sea allows no hesitation.
Doubt will not the course set.
The wind freshens, the touch of the wheel remains firm,
the destination fixed in the whisper of morning light.

Dreams fold into dreams,
carved by the small hours,
shattering a linear world
nestled in its concrete comforts.

It fuses with broken nocturnal reveries into unpredictable contours,
and crests the windward waves,
propelling the strained vessel forward to new truth.

Stay the course to journey’s end,
the route vexed by beguilement spinning on the edge of sight
– an island here – a glistening harbor there.

Sailboats resting at peace under an azure blanket beckon.
The town ripe with festival, a sun-blazed beach dazzles,enveloping,
begs a weary spirit tarry.

But the wind whistles in the rigging,
the cove left behind.
The call, the journey.

Days flee, a gale bears down.
What’s marked once will never be seen again
There is no return.

What waits?
Journey’s end. Its wonder.
And a windsong that tips us to the universe.

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