For All the Voyagers and All the Voyages

Corot, Jean-Baptiste-Camille; Seascape with Figures on Cliffs; The National Gallery, London

At dawn my thoughts of you float
from my ship, and to the waves, in spindrift lift
and sparkle, caught on gannet wings and carried–
to you, my love, to you–

across the miles, far from windswept water,
and though each day I travel farther,
I look for you on rising mountain-clouds,
and hear your voice in the wind’s chilled chatter,

telling me to bundle-tight. At night,
I rest my love on feathered down,
but sharp quills prick and write all around
my words of longing, “I want to be with you,”

to connect our heartbeats once again.
And so, I whisper questions across the knotted sea,
for the silvered-light to answer, then hear the moon’s reply,
be patient for what will come and what will end.

Your breath flows out, on a heron’s back it soars,
and hers rise on another to meet halfway–or more–
your souls may touch somewhere in space
in mist, a clinging trace–

though your bodies wait and wait, your thoughts send–
before forever, you’ll touch again.

For dVerse, where I’m hosting today. A work in progress. So many ways I could have gone with connection.