Sometimes

 

When we are out at sea

There are islands,

Rough, ragged, jagged rocks

Ready to lure ships

To be holed and torn.

 

Captain and navigator

Steer a clever course

Between, around, and past

Leaving the siren stones

Behind, folorn.

 

And sometimes

 

There are islands in the air,

Cloud countries

That change and drift and loom,

Now tinged with sunset golds.

Now white, now grey.

 

Passengers hold cameras high,

Hoping to catch

The beauty of the skies,

Imprison it to watch later

On a less spectacular day.

 

And then

 

There are ideas that form,

Skimming over the waves,

Dipping into the foam,

Breathtaking in their immensity,

New born and still blind.

 

I watch them unfolding,

Children of the vast sea,

Space ships of the ocean

Inexorably building green island

Gardens in my mind.