Our Clumsy Navigation

Our Clumsy Navigation

 

It is true, we have
finally come to our senses.
So let’s take a strong boat to
the other shore. Let’s not leave even a hint
that we know where we are going.
I don’t know how to sail, but we can let the winds
and current
take us tacking away from the harbor.
There are words we could borrow but no one
would believe then anyway. There are miles to
leave between us and our sorrows. There are
angels in the air, mermaids under the foam,
foghorns flailing at the mists, and mystic rivers
ready for us to cross.
We both know our stories by heart now.
We both know the water lines.
We both can finish the day and then,
by the orange light of the setting sun be lured
like monarch butterflies to the trees, like
salmon up the creek,
like souls aching to be left alone,
like souls seeking a reflection we both can recognize.
None of it makes sense. But that is why we must go.
We have waited, hoped half-hearted for all the signs
to point out our next departure. And we have stood
frozen and agonized by the shore
imploring a certain impartation, a cure for our
clumsy navigation.
Noah built a boat before it rained,
but we are drenched and stained by our own
immobility.
Jesus walked on the water in the storm,
but we have been tossed while only hazy ghosts
teased us like sirens on the shore.
Sensing the time is right, let’s embark this journey,
provided, of course, that we can see the stars
and trust their movement from sea to sky.