The Sail

Wait, always wait.
Storms in abeyance
Fabric unspun, pieces of loom
Unwoven threads, weight and comb
Potential, weft, rags, fragments.

But in the mind’s eye –
The cloth, storm-soaked linen woven sunken silken
Heave, pull, shine before the sun in vast, away, billows
Of beauty against the sky, big, great, greater than worlds
Greater than skies.

And down again – who will weave these pieces
Who will tie these ends, draw and smooth and pull together and
Little by little build and make.

Wait, and wait
Pieces in becoming
Strewn, kinetic, imbued
Fictive emptiness
Skeins of skies and of selves
Wealth, heft, depth

Your solemn joy and full emptiness and not being what one is
Only means being before the being.
Be calm, becalmed – as ponds, puddles, clouds, tempests and torrents
Are all on your trajectory.

I will be the gravity drawing the drops
Pooling them around you.


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