I will make a ruler of your absence
to measure the moon’s face by
until its little sail is close hauled
and waxing in the black waters
over this city, promising to bring you in.
Somehow that distant arc must know
this course runs a little rough,
but all that tension will have to ease up
as soon as as you reach and cross the line
where departure and arrival collide.

About thepoetsglass

Professor, poet, philosophical dilettante, plus some other impressively heady alliterations. Instructional designer and copywriter. Cognitive neuroscientist by night. Self-diagnosed coffee addict, sometime dancer, brooding bibliophile, and an always salty sailor.
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