Thy compass point North.

I anchored my heart to a stone
and down, down, down through the dark
of the depths of the ocean it sank
and now I grieve for the love I lost at sea.
My tram drifts past and I fly my heart half-mast
for no comfort comes to me,
as this ship of bones creaks and groans
floating, ambling aimlessly.

My back pressed to the deck I shouted at the gods
who cowardly hid their faces behind clouds
to utter words no more audible than the last gust of wind,
or the gentle splash of water against the bow
while the sun seared a seal of new freckles across my cheeks
as a reminder of what too much time spent beaten by the conditions
will do to a woman.

Nights clearer than a fresh epiphany birthed dawn softer
and more breath taking than any kiss I’d known
and the caw of the seagulls who perched upon the mast
at noon day against a forget-me-not sky reminded me of land,
and as I peered over my shoulder in circles like Moses did upon the Mount
I too knew the great “I Am,” as I flung my arms wide as the eagle’s wings
to trust in whichever direction the current blew.

Months passed, days blurring into one another
as the ocean’s crown would smudge the sole of the sky
and with my back pressed to the deck I listened to the gods
and the still, small voice of the gentle splash of water against the bow beckoned me home,
while the wind skipped to a gale and I saw with my mind’s eye the hull of my boat
held softly in the hand of my God as he breathed deeply, and filled my sails.

Up, up, up came the anchor in to view,
called towards the light, encrusted with barnacles
and as I drew that old stone to my ear
I heard the ocean’s waves find rest within,
and knew the hand which held my ship had calmed my sea
for now, my tram sails past, and I fly my heart full mast,
for love has set me free.

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