Silently they tend to our spirits as mists sweep
Out vessels so bristles ripple
A dream.

Away from the jetty a boatman, pastry thin,
Wipes clean the torn sail and
We float.

Water parts shallow lips deepening a moonlit
Sky. Heavier now we softly turn our
Souls intent .

The prow cuts through darkness and like rolling pins
We unfold bitter moods chanting
Unsaid prayers.

At last, a strange place, an oasis of steamy rocks - water
Greening memory - spilling youthful
Wishes.

We stretch tall till the boatman loosens the
sail winding up the
Warmed silence.

Glancing round and no boatman or dark to be seen.
Only light fills my dream.