POEM: Moorings

During long days,
The shawl of needless worry
Wraps its legs around your fleshy heart
eclipsing the birth and death of solar systems,
the breathless horizon, and
Even the felt of stormclouds.

At my best, i possess tunnel vision
That bores directly into that beating ghost
That cups you like a ladle in its thirsty hands.

Have you dreamed of how proud I am of you?
How glad that we hitchhike that same glory road?

Our hearts are common moorings
Of thick wood buried feet deep in swift river
Currents that carry away what is impossible to hold
On to anyway - ineffable
as the song of migrating geese -
inexorable as melting snow and ice.
The target light is where I lie in wait for you.