Pointed pelican beaks, stilted cranes,

Gliding gulls, crow’s nest perch—

                         pure, glistening depths,

Anchor, atlas, mariner’s map,

Time, waves pouring vaporous memory,

sluggish currents, dissolving skies

     —a fantasy.

Living the fable—

a legend, a vessel, skimming once charted seas.

A venture, before and beyond an aquatic world,

whispering the story of liquid ripples,

diving echoes, sloshing spirals, droplets and splashes,

sparkling encounters on a vanished globe in mythical rivers.

Beacon speaks as shells once whispered,

compass and quadrant, under sky, over sea.

Misted rover, sways a hoisted storm

rowing droughtless miles,

          wading melted flakes.

Inscribed on a scroll, in a bottle afloat,

empty moments scanning infinity,

until rain is ice, and haze doth rise.

Sandglass trickles, horizons engulfed

in persistent vapor

            as journey becomes breath.

Oh, once a world—

          drenched centuries.

Anchor not, nautical dream.

Tim Glenn, Author

Brandy T. Wilson, Editor