The sun is slipping down the horizon 
the sunset threatens to disappear
Like a rusty penny
An echelon of wild geese gather above
so I follow grey wings into the storm.

My arms are branches and you are
my nourishment
cut me down to a boat.
My spine a sturdy keel , my hair
unfurled sails.  A distant lighthouse
my only lamp for you hold the stars
in your hand.
If red sails are cast into a cleft too
deep for me to cross
I was trying to get to you.