Would that the night
wasn’t between us,
the pitch of dreamed seas
were walkable rope bridges
and we could rest easier again.
I will climb to my crow’s nest
rung by unsteady rung,
and wait for the eventual lull,
for earth’s dawn curvature
to be as your very own.
The measure of a latitude
no sullen wave can ever engulf
or will conceal in time’s rifts,
we only need wait
for the sand’s revealment
of a causeway,
the connection of two lands.
Walk swift across
and I’ll embrace you there
halfway in the daybreak,
once again my ocean.
