Gorgeous open sky, wanting to be seen
but rarely do we gaze up to that screen,
head down and fettered with things,
like a maladaptive daydream...
The mind is a lonely ship, drifted north
and lost its compass,
roaming seas of clouds and heaven
what of solitude and sailing
and it can see all the imaginary things,
maybe pretty but often mourning
its never seen another ship.
But the sky is gorgeous and clear tonight,
and the ship gazes up and sees,
truly sees,
the sky and the stars and the everything
The ship, with star maps out, then finds
a homely port not far from there, and sails
with every wail of the wind
to where
it meets the pier.