The Sky Beneath The Stars In The Rain
the guitar, the history of Peter Pan
a treasure that goes forth to be lost.
A lessening of spirit? Perish the thought.
You and I have a few more chances left
and, at any rate, actuarily speaking
you’ve got more riding your way than me.
So now please let us not conflate
the fiction that we like to read
with the fictions we like to make.
You can travel the seven seas.
A piece of weed, a piece of shell
a thousand sunsets, all were different
in every one a restive breeze.
Faraway the future, countless dreams
ships underway, the holds are full
everyone waiting for the winds.
A song to ring your ears.
Mountain, anchor, whale
bird, water, engines.
Friend. Every heart.
© 2016 Rob Schackne