Sailing III

Sometimes, in the night
when the stars are cold and
brilliant
and all I can hear in the
stretching silence of my room
is my own quiet breath -

I am a sleek sailboat
with turquoise sails
passing smoothly over a
glassy, translucent sea
in fragrant air and a
clear blue sky, where
the sun is hot
and I lie
replete, filled, cleansed
of all ills, and I trail
my hand in the deep cool
water
and smile for what good
Fate I have to land
in the end
on these polished redwood
boards
where my only concerns are
very small, small enough
to hold in my hand
and my wealth
of heart, mind, soul, bone-
power, is bars of gold,
the hoard of years
from the hill trails
where I fought all the
Angels sent to me
to bleed me white.

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