Make friends again with the oar
in the lock, with the gears that turn
and the rudder that creaks
as it steers your craft

Don’t look at the water
and its treacherous surface of glass
or its depths that connive
with their legends of doubt

Make peace with the charterless
sky and the trail of marks left by each passing wing—
There are no witnesses here: only each body bearing
forward, leaving what needs to be left behind.


In response to Via Negativa: Stranger here myself.

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