by a frigate
with every yard of canvas
spread tight against the wind,

murky ink blackness above
just a hint of the dawn
on some far horizon

the fog’s little cat’s feet
obscuring what awaits
on that far shore,
unknowable unknowns

fit for philosophers and kings
yet granted to
the lowly,
the most humble;

swift movement
our own singular
indefinite
incomprehensible shore,

the very stuff of dreams
destiny not yet manifest
now skies filled with stars
the spirits of the ones who went before

a thing not yet born,
awaiting revelation

full resolution;
that deep rest in safe harbor
unalterable eternal peace.