Those blessed moments
      that pretend
They’ll stay with us forever—
Soon gone,
      without a fare-thee-well.
What’s the rush?
      I heard myself say.

You have the right
      to remain silent,
The night told me
      as I sat in bed
Hatching plans
      on how to hold the next
Captive in my head.

I recall a window thrown open
      one summer day
On a grand view of the bay
      and a cloud in all that blue
As pale as the horse
      Death likes to ride.

Always happy to shoot the breeze,
      that lone cloud
Was telling me
      as it drifted out to sea,
Toward some
      ship on the horizon,

That had already
      set sail
And was about to vanish
      out of sight,
On the way to some port
      and country
Without name.

      A ghost ship,
Most surely,
      but mine all the same.