what am I doing? I speak as though you’ll understand
the drips and eddies, tides of lunar gold across the shore. This is my mind
(not that it's always so beautiful) and that makes it
precious? No. Empty, and un-anchored.
For this is an open space, an ocean, unfettered as a restless sea
(I only touch the shore because all seas must have an end somewhere
so this is mine) and I think I am a ship
thus here adrift I sit and rock and watch and float and dream alone
thinking my life in fairytales; speaking my hopes in tongues.
Ooh I had fun with this one. I really did. I know it needs work (desperately, as usual) but it was so much fun to write again. It's been too long!
