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.