Ship of Dreams Dining
by Odin Roark

Idle the waves,
temperate the speed,
one’s life port and starboard,
balanced,
righted,
afloat with winged calm.

How elegant the setting.

Etched history of crystal refracting sun’s horizon,
while overhead beams of Edison’s genius
highlight floral accents,
so small,
yet to some
so prescient in scope.

They love me,
they love me not
serenades us in silence,
while epicurean silverware
display will-o‘-the-wisps’ reflections
atop white clouds of table’s linen comfort.

Alone, perhaps
as all become,
but such a celebratory buffet
of what might have been.

Having chosen lightly from life’s infatuation,
the naked salads sprouted from grist,
adorned by dressing of mixed color
remind the palate of the banquet’s early beginning.

Once simply samplings of raw growth,
now homogenized with ending’s sweet and sour disguise.

Inhaling deeply,
we beckon moist breezes
curve comforting auras about our mind,
soothe unhealed scars of the heart.

Oh, the remembering…

The remembering.