train my eye to view
all pregnant phases, harvest days,
and epic wanes with curiosity
if not certainty of waxing again.
I raise this glass. To you
I dedicate this small boat of my own
in which I sail from dawn to dusk to dawn
through every season, too,
leaving my own faint, darkening wake
across the realm
you rule. And I’ll come here again, to you.
I’ll be still and brood awhile
and think things through
#10 of 30 poems in 30 days for National Poetry Writing Month, April 2017
Image by John Livzey