I cannot see my ship over the horizon
No matter shining sails or mast’s towering height.
Unseen then, how am I to know it’s the right one?
My eyes strain ever in darkness to catch the light.
I lean the platform for the late train round the bend
Indistinct sounds will tantalize yet fool my ear.
Who knows for sure the engine late or early, send?
Schedules do little to alleviate my fear.
The day after my last breath on earth is taken.
The morning’s dawn comes as usual, but not for me.
Have I, in my slender faith, been true forsaken?
The while my life spent with eyes unable to see?
from the Senses and More Such collection
. . . j