A shackle by some other name,
A memory in mine,
A mind not my own would perceive them the same,
But this good memory is hard to find.

“Plainly, no love,” she told me,
Then I will wait till you can see,
I dream of you, waking and sleeping,
I skip food and company for your needing.

Drifting thoughts manifest in the form of inkm
They are the planks of my boat,
With no words holding me, I sink,
With no glue, nail or latch, I cannot float.

The sea, my metaphor for Beau,
Looking down, deep, far down, shows blue,
And in the darkness of depth, I can’t hold you,

My last words, I pray to undo.
                I’m sorry I hurt you.



Use the stars to so North at sea,
Use the moon, the sun, the broken compass.

                                                   Drift.


-September 26th 2013