... I need to get back to my posting-every-Thursday routine. Or something like that. I'm not going to apologize for the prolonged silence (life happens), so have some original poetry instead.
"Northern Passage"
Silver boatman, sing to me
eyes on the horizon, wrapped
in a shroud of the morning wind.
Grey the sky and grim the rain,
trickle-down ice over
the wilderness of wounded water,
Russian frost that cracks the air.
Chains in a cloud-churned sky.
Sing to me, silver boatman.
As the sunlight turns to ashes, let
it touch my upturned face,
whisper from Cherubim burning.
Tracks like tears down a sallow cheek,
let me taste the homeward lifting,
shifting of numb fingers on the
side of my little vessel, storm-tossed, wanderer. Sing to me.
Silver boatman, let me be.
O moon of winter,
toss your stars over the moving water, your
shadowed cape drawing o’er sight; bury the dead.
The bells of Skellig over rock and wave.
Let the gulls cry, words for me, shriek my soul what
cannot be said. O God.
Silver boatman, take me there.
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