25 March 2018

Toward dawn, the words
sailed into my sleeping mind,
almost taking the shape of a boat
at anchor in the black
harbor of dream.  I could
not see a shore,
though I felt its flat, massive
presence.  I began to rise toward waking,
causing the words take the shape of a boat,
with flat, open decks,
benches stretched across them,
a ferry at rest,
its bow facing away from shore,
pointing toward a voyage
I had yet to take.

The water calmed.

As I wakened, rippling the air in the room,
I became the shore.
As I rose, to begin the day,
I became the boat
in the harbor of the room
enveloping me like an ocean.
Slowly, I sensed myself becoming
the voyage.

Philip Kuepper
(This poem was begun in April 2000.
I have amended it to this, March 2018.)