Where yoga mats and mathematics sit
Calamities like kittens calmly play
Rusted through a car horn my rainy wit
Wet silence says the things I cannot say
My mind released the esoteric glance
toward kite strings pulling weekends lost at sea
the heights at which we engage in the dance
of what's to be or what is not to be
The golden rings I cling to in my sleep
Give me the daily dreams on which I ride
in a birch boat across the murky deep
Gallant bouyant and with no place to hide
Tie me to the mast like Turner, I cry!
Let me feel the cold sea foam on my chest
Onward, into God's swollen heart I pry
giddy in this hidden treasure chest