There’s a merging of shadows
around the backside of me, positioning
to break out and pass to the front with
quick steps and nervous breaths. Ships
of night line up for the challenge of dreams.
Topsails strain at the strength of speed while
battling cold steel overcasts attempting to
slow the progress forged in the foundries
of thought.
Each day is an empty space waiting for
words to create motion and spin; the
travel we hold in check is the prisoner
fighting to be released.
Knowledge is comfort. Common sense
is a gift.
