The Island Boat has Crossed the Waters

 

Where are our kin?

What deep is that?

Who is that boy at the oar?
Where are the great old ones?
Who dreamed of this?

Where can she be found?

Whose voice called out?

What journey was undertaken?

We had launched ourselves onto the shearwater’s road

Of winds’ lives, the kittiwakes’ way

The towering fortress of the ever shouting birds

We mariners had left behind us,

Our hopes & prayers knotted in cords & stays

Chords of songs & masts of sails

As delicate as the gull’s white wing feathers,

Singing as we pulled on oars

With the sun of glory scooting out over our heads

& the old dark, loathings of the storm left far behind us.

Left to rage; felt sensed but not seen

We could not look back, nor return to Laurentia

So the boat of the brothers & sisters of the child-king

Fulfilled the prophecy of banded Pre-Cambrianity

Sweet granite song-lines of inspiration

Can now call to darker birds, where secret waters

Rise to the surface & we stand upon the curving shore

Almost disbelieving that this tiny island-boat

Could have crossed the millions of years of storm waves.

A reunion of ancient lands.

Another bird on the wing.

A scented strand.

A woman waiting.

A timeless tomb.

An awakening hero.

Starlight upon the wave of the deep.

That is our kin.