Polaris
There is a woman
in a room,
her white dress
pushed and pulled
by the ocean.
The moon stains her arms gray
as she stands perched
in the window frame,
waiting for what,
I'll never know.
More night?
Some sort of midnight eclipse?
A black illumination?
Morning will shake me again,
back to chasing those balloons
I lost as a child,
so early burned
by that Texas sun,
dreaming in the desert,
never having slpt in forest
or at sea.
So yes, I am a balloon chaser,
my pockets full of seeds
and photographs,
maps of the Persian Sea,
or Berlin,
nautical charts,
sketches from a dream I had
of the Northern Lights.
—————————
Jonathan Simons
Songs of Waking
Analog Sea
2016
