Nothing Ever Ends

Imaginary Lines



The horizon marks me
as one
who needs help,
my boat sailing
for no shore,
no landing in sight,
paint a canvas
in the pointillist style
and I am
in every dot,
crying for the Sun
to set on the water,
melted gold
weaving a path
for me to follow
until it disappears
in the rushing darkness.
Once more
I am adrift,
the line of demarcation
out of reach
like a true
earthly purpose.
I have been marked
as someone
the continents
have no use for
and the seas
bury like treasure.
Take a fast sloop,
a rusted dhow,
fly a seaplane
from island to island,
please come for me
before the horizon
cuts me in two.