cut the anchor, oh Lord, I feel the swell

compel me forward, a great wave

of humble beginnings. I know

I shall not walk this shore again,

not in the daylight clasping slender hands

nor at evening, when we gazed high and low

to the gentle stars setting, rising, spinning--

swept of their own volition, here I have laid

moored for seasons to a firm dock

and stone paths where feet have come and gone.

I once sat upon the shoreline and watched

ships of all sizes, full of children

drift back and forth to the horizon, and wondered

how far and long, and how cold that sea

and where the lands that only others see,

our sails are waiting for an errant breeze

and here it is, at dawn, mercilessly

playing with the flap and fold. cast the rope

my pilot, compass, ocean's guide and captain's cloak;

I know the shore, and I greet the endless waves.