Hope is dashed
And interest lost
I've waved for a ship
that doesn't recognize my raft
most any day.
I am worthy of a rudder, commanded,
intention steered to find me,
moving into port
as though my little light were a beacon.
But still the ship moves past
until a cannon shot
leaves need for rescue;
And then my raft
she sinks with the weight.
I can't sail forward thus.

Intersections in the sky:
Lines that loop and spread
white to grey from
horizon to horizon.
Then the rain.
Stars vanish,
moons rise & set,
& at the foot of
this mountain
we are no longer asleep.