The View From My Harbor

You are the boat, the hole in the ocean
into which I throw my questions.
Like a Delphic oracle, you hear only one
frequency of voice on the wind.
When the gale rises, waves churn, leaves
rustle, and my lips move but your statue
hears little and answers less.

I throw my line, hook, and sinker,
and catch a boot-full of promise,
a magic carp, like those of my childhood,
from a fathomless meandering river,

I fold my pieces of paper, my prayers
for enlightenment, and tuck them between
the stones of the Wailing Wall, dovening
among those who would stone me dead
were my not-so-virginal thoughts clear beneath
my façade. I throw pennies into the wishing fountain,
hoping something - anything - will light my horizons,
shed moonbeams and hope.

You are leaded crystal, beautiful, elegant and so
easily shattered, impossible to recast into any
shape I could dream of. You are illusion, a spirit
cloaked in a cloud with a silver lining.

You are a silverfish, burrowing and feeding on
my history, as much absence as presence.
You are both my light and my dark (k)night,
as waves roll and break across my bow.