Dorsal Fin

A turning.

08/06/15

Assist me in this turn,

My dorsal fin,

As I realize I am the brother

Who needs to emerge and play -

Both the boat and the beacon,

The sail and the reason,

The dusk and the dawn;

Everything old and new in one.

My path has felt strange

As things have fallen away -

More than music and words,

Hours and days.

I turn like a tree.

I have been transplanted,

And yet there are these...memories.

I know not if I flee or evolve;

Whether I cause the problem, or solve.

Both, or neither.

But it's been so long

Since the strings have called my fingers

To anything near completion,

There is much forgotten.

Yet I am encouraged.

Perhaps it's been a making-room.

Perhaps for me...

Perhaps, for...

You.