I Voyage the Broad Life



 

I

voyage

the broad life,

roused by sun and song

and rock-a-byed by the

rolling swells and ridged whitecaps

of parted time

radiating from my bobbing bow and fading in my pleated wake.

I need no oar.

My proud, penetrating bow

pursues only the anonymous horizon.

Though, I cannot apprehend

if it is my keen bow’s headway

that rifts the years

into these seconds

or

if it is

these seconds

that propel my vessel

through the years that merge and

recede

at my stern.

These seconds,

a small, transparent pool

hand-ladled from the lapping years,

now amplifying the creased channels and delicate tributaries

of my cupped palms,

mirroring in silver slivers a noble sky,

would readily spill

into the passing years and,

as soon,

become indistinguishable,

unless

I

drink

of them

and

nourish

the thirsty

tissues of my being.

I take a long, cool sip

and splash my face.

These seconds, these years,

the breadth of my life,

are measured in mouthfuls of swirling water.