Anchored Ship (16 October 2017)

I drift on the edge, unbounded,
watching him sleep in the thick,
clear navy shawl of midnight against

the pale moon of his face
the sharp darkness of his brow
angular, arrogant when he’s awake

I pretend to sleep when he stirs,
to not disturb his reach as he draws me in
anchoring me in the depths

I wonder, awake, how I could practice this
long obedience in just one direction,
How I could go out against the course

with only this one star to guide me
waiting, not wanting, in just one place
how could I hold myself here, stretched to the stillness

sunlight whispering, tracing its finger
along the pale, scarred skin of the beam.
And now the strangeness of the ambered morning,

The hollowness of the night moving on,
but this doesn’t feel like limitation.
I feel out to sea, indefinite, instead of brought to shore.