We set sail for new horizons,
sure of golden sunsets, unspoiled hope.
But you were never one for sharing
the helm – or even your space.
            Predictably,
you wanted more of grand adventure,
yearned to conquer wilder seas.
But, because cowards can never say as much,
they wreck the very ships they sail
            in pursuit of something more,
            with blatant disregard for what is now.

You defined me as you chose,
inflicted injury without cause.
Only later did I realize
that you had veered into deep water
            aimlessly.
You decided not so much to abandon
our cause or to sail on without me
as you haphazardly drifted off into
an ocean of oblivion, dream-drunk,
            from imbibing too much independent fantasy.           
           (Your freedom did not come free.)

You let life define you as it would,
anted up with losing hand, deliriously happy.
Only later did you realize
that you had drowned so many dreams
            carelessly.
You decided not so much to stray
from navigational line or wander away
as you relinquished the wheel.
            What do you do with a drunken sailor?
            I had never known to really ask.

Our vessel commandeered and I tossed
overboard, you hummed gleefully, floated
directionless. They say you slept through
spill of oily slick that seeps still, 
            silently,
slowly, into my heart’s thin skin.
Later, I saw you on far shore, eyes glazed,
blissfully unaware, strangely unconcerned,
with consequence of your inaction.
            As you walked into a golden sunset, smiling, 
            I remembered what once had been our dream.