Can one sail and cross the world
And always be in the right place?
Far from the cement columns
Framing the harbor of the usual
On a Boreal glimmering vessel
Our candlelit wooden castle
And trees again, fragrant chocks to be faded
To lift towards the angels above
And stream their specks about
The dazed glow of dreamcatchers
Surprised rain not ready to leave,
Tinsels for the aerial woolly passengers.
When tickly feathers flutter
Bobbing buoy of dull fishermen
In the private spider gem
Root of the demons’ hair cobweb
New life has been breathed
And the sky is golden anew
Letters to myself: a diary 