The wee boat is painfully simple But sure, it must have made light work Of the pathways of the sea, For here it is, blithe boat Afloat but how it’s powered, Heaven knows. In dreams I am never party to its passage I spy it after and only then, aft Poor stowaway of my own imagining. And as for waves, there are none. The sea is glass, the sky is mirrored Horizons only hinted at Where moonbeams break and float And taper away from the sky-hung stone Moon thrown, the hands that flung It star-ward, spinning from its sling-shot, And now in star-ploughed fields of sky And sailing hand-made Pleiades, Quiet observers of recurring dreams. The time is in the wee hours When all good men are asleep And it would be rude to call or visit But the scene is steeped with lights Organic in their origin And bioluminescence threads the inky sea With aquamarine and turquoise. The mareel ocean has stolen the milky way And cloaked it in water, but it is betrayed By the very chemistry of life and at times, As philosophers made mention, death. The man in the wee boat, breathes Tidal inward outward gentle volumes. He’s waiting, and on different days I occupy his hands with different things Sometimes a rope or rigging Held the same way as London lives That flood, and fly, fossorial Through earth, in shapes their shirts Held moments ago, when hung In wardrobes with solid backs. In all other things, he differs. His pelagic passage was precise His mission every single imagining Is to this mareel-starry maelstrom Such a one that falls unlike all others. From a glassy sea, it steals and wheels Around itself, and is no threat to mariner There are no rocks or deadly straits The depths are bright and shining Not black like Charybdis briny belly, The sound is murmuring, or chattering Not wild like Corryveckan’s crazed wining. The sailor, aphonic, laconic, and wise Watches my maelstrom spinning and spun The walls of this whirlpool are words Or are feelings or sentiments silenced. My sentiments tumbling, jumbled up meanings A whirling of words and whispering wishes That flicker like fishes of silver and sorry For things that I cannot unsee or unsay Or were lost in the moment, l’esprit d’escalier This maelstrom is every word, spoken or heard And I, confused author of word-heavy water. The sailor, at ease with his mariner’s missive I with my fear that I’ll drown or explode With the trying to order the word-heavy water We’re at odds, but I’m willing him win In this battle, I’d rather give in The Pleiades watch this Pelagianic defeat A wire, a line, plumbing depths that I’d rather not Fathom, for fear of discovering wrecks Sinks to the maelstrom, draws out its catch Words that cling to the sky-yearning wire That ring, like clear bells, a new song. I love this night traveller, He steels me and stills me And conquers this mind-filling maelstrom One gaze is enough, and I'm willing To enter the storm of my thoughts To succumb to one hope That these thoughts are worthy Of writing, of finding, unwinding Unknotting the fetters, and binding The worst of my fears.