Captaining a ghost ship
at the crossroads in the sea
where the currents turn to fizzy froth
and the waves are speckled with spangled starlight
and the blackened tidewashed curls of seaweed
on the beach are bunched and braided like bridgework steel
and in the sky the alien greens and blues
and scarlets and magentas
of cloudstruck auroras, memories of the sun cast
to circumnavigate the Earth
from our mother of distant fire
her light seven minutes old—
these ancient dewy-eyed auroras
have decided in their heavenly courts to burn
from the clouds upon our peasant waves like ghostfire
so green and bright, I, a Sunseeker
peering through an amber-tinted spyglass
but finding only the moon, am blinded
by the brilliance of the Stars
and all their glorious unknowns
and abandon my hunt for the imaginary I know
and set my sights on a reality uncertain:
I set my prow to the moon
and turn my sails to the wind, outracing the Sun
to chase the Night and Stars, and with wind in my chest
I find I am not dispassioned by closing opportunities
for at my back is the Sun I know
and she is not angry — she brings winds to my sails
and pushes, for life is an adventure
and there is so much Night out there
for me to explore.
From bloated satiety
my hunt turns course;
I find myself in the woods
of absolution.