Out over the patient ocean,
waiting for every pilot
is the circle
that maps his point of no return,
beyond which
the fuel that trembles in the tanks
will only carry him
and his craft
to a different end.
We fly further
no checklist
or manual,
nothing to tell
when the fatal point
passes under an innocent wing.
We fly on,
heedless navigators,
against all regulations,
waiting for the voice and the word
in the static of our hearts.
I am not even sure how to reply. I keep rereading it and getting lost in the visions. The patient ocean – amazing – and it really is. Static hearts, sometimes that is where I hear the static. I keep ruminating and getting distracted by clouds. It is true and rings so.
Thanks for this one…
You are very welcome, thanks for reading and commenting.