alright

I'm here again, at this page. a mystery moving in me. 
north stars and pathways that sing the shining sea.
turning and moving, always at the start.
this constant reckoning of the human heart.

I'm the sightless storyteller, and the clueless reader all in one.
rhythms and ropework, pathmaking on the run.

weaving and mourning, looking for solid ground

what is quicksand and what the great round.

oh for a key,

for a well used map and ocean chart,

oh for gold unspun,

or port, a letter from home and a place to run aground.