Repeated there: patterned denial,
replicated reverberation of I alone,
naturally. In the reverence, a soliloquy—
song of solemnity, faintest remembrance.

I no longer recall first spring of sorrow;
the river only runs red in distant dreams.
And yet forever and the day bring me back
to knife's edge, my heart's open wound.

I carry on, for I am strong, This is how
I have always made it through, ever loyal
to you, which in a certain light seems mere folly,
a fine-tuned contrast to my exemplary fortitude. 

And what do you see, sailor, great spirit
and survivor of the storm? Do you too view
yourself in a favorable light? Do you ever see
through the spyglass of time the image reversed?

It seems not. But who am I to say or even ask
this much of time and space, the illusionary light
of this dark age? Moored in a mirage, I am multiplcation
of mirrored reflection of weakness to you.

And to myself I am a mere memory divided
into this indivisible truth. I am the river. I am
the dream, alive and flowing on the seas of time.
There is sweetness in the sorrow, a gift.

Oh, good grief, how you heal me.
You break me open, force me to be true
and in so doing lead me back to folly
and to fortitude, to we two who judge

So easily and fail to see what is written
in the ship's log, star date 2023: eloquent
and echoed invitation to light, to life, to love
in the blue beyond and infinity.