in the
grave-still
of night
aboard
the old rugged
ship again
sailing
the rough sea
of life—
undulating
teahouse waves
of a bobbing
and weaving
sojourn…
a tripping trip
that seemed
to end
right where
it began—
an anchored
journey
aboard a craft
buoyed and docked
at one of
life’s many wafts:
day breaks
and
the dripping anchor
is raised…
anointing
concentric blessings
of another day
being free
in life’s liberating
struggle…