Where have you been?
To the soft horizon on the outgoing tide
Why did you sail there?
In search of pure light as it meets the thoughtless sea
What did you find?
Truth, but not where we expected
Returned, we watched our upturned hulls dry in the dusk
There was beauty etched by salt, waves, rocks, ropes,
wires, nets, blood …
But something more?
Each was a portrait of home
Aren’t those just the lines made by everyday life?
Precisely: the scattered fragments of us that mark
our common ground
You elevate wear and tear to art?
More a wise note scribbled in the margin of a borrowed book
Dew on litter. Gentrified woodsmoke. Night bus satsangs.
All our gorgeous banalities
So, what next?
Back out towards Paradise, so we may return here
and know where we are