In trying to reach the other side
of whatever separates us—blue expanse
or two fingertips inches from bridging—
I have become as much an anchorless boat
rowed too near the horizon
as some great vessel moored a lifetime in the shallows.
If I could speak what is missing by silence alone
I would have already uncorrupted the distance.
I would have curved a trajectory
steady as the moon’s
and moved through eternity
certain as sunken stone.
But there is only one lighthouse
for these thousand inconstant shores
and to be nearing the light’s eye—
even if it harbors you—
only means I’ve travelled farther
from discovering myself.