I am docked on a planet within the Milky Way Galaxy, deep within the system they call Sol.

I have always nurtured a desire to visit neighbouring systems and maybe find a way beyond into the outer arms of our Spiral. So far our limited technology affords little scope for exploration, let alone travel.

Sadly, even interplanetary travel is as yet a dream to those of us with an eye for Cygnus.

But one day we will break free of our Earthly chains and soar the pathways of Space, though not in my lifetime.

Still, though so docked, a comfortable hillock provides a scintillating glimpse at our nearest neighbours on a clear night. A night when I can look up and dream.

Somewhere between here

and nowhere

Cut from the moor by chance

and circumstance

On roiling waves I am adrift

as the sea shifts

I’m tugged from the shore

and I implore

The moon for a direction

at its discretion

I swim amidst endless stars

and where they are

Burns pale and perfect light

so milky white

A beacon to guide my way

won’t drift astray

Take up both oaken oars

and row on for

A promising but distant land

and by my hand

I’ll part this murky water

I will not falter

I must traverse this ocean

with my devotion

Find where inside my chest

my heart can rest

And dock my weathered bones

in that new home

My ship is banked

In a desert land

My rudder and stern

Both filled up with sand.

My sails are depleted and drooping and worn

My soul's more than restless-

Without outrigging or compass or the sea-

And my lungs are sucked breathless.

I try to find joy

In this place where I'm stuck

But there's not much to be found

I'm far out of luck.

Tell me do you know

Of a good boat repair man?

He doesn't have to be clever

Just lend me a hand.

Tell me have you heard

Of an unexamined shore?

It doesn't have to be wealthy

Just be room to explore.

Tell me have you heard

Of anything at all?

Anything to save me from this

For without saving, my soul will perish.

Though the sea is vast and with many areas to dock and claim as their own, mine is temporarily washed ashore in Colorado. I'm restless in waiting here in my 28th year of life, and I came here for love. I came here in the pursuit of building my family. Now I'd rather ride the winds back to Tennessee to be with the family I knew all my life, and be rid of the ghosts claiming to be people, and to see if I don't blossom further. As I said, I'm washed ashore, my boat needs repair, and there are binding documents that at the moment I'd like not to break in order to ensure my growth continues. However, even though it's pollen laden lands drive my sense furious, it's people make me feel...alive.

Across the lake,

A storm brews and swirls

Wildly, a breeze becoming

A monstrous force

To slam a dock

Against the wave-break.

The concrete tiles

Shatter and splinter like glass

And the tin roof,

No longer hot from the sun,

Warps and melts anyway.

The rustless chains that

Once held it to the lakebed

Now stretch and pull and

Finally give,

And the hoists and lifts

Cannot hold any longer.

Across the lake, there is apocalypse

And I am docked here

In raccoon cove,

Where the golf balls hit sand

And the grilling is free

And the boat babes are my

Best friends.

Across the lake

There is always apocalypse.

So,

I will dock here and

Watch the show.