I am neither skull nor skeleton
And keep no bottle of rum
As a friend
My mentor
Is from tail feathers
A falcon’s pen
My sword is Spaniard
And my looking glass
Does extend
But for the purpose
Of plotting a course
That will lead onward sailors and men
My wines are from vineyards
That has been trampled upon
By the children of schoolyard antics
And yard master hands
For better reasons
Have picked and replanted
I have sailed to Fatima
To the dock at the ports of Portugal
Weighed anchor
And Shan hi a slew of drunks
To set sail
To Quebec; Montreal
I laid hammer upon the bells
And did toll them calls
As crows do from crow masts
I shouted all aboard
The icy skies at night
Hold the ribbons tight
Then like whips snapping
Comes looming across
A silence in the night
That can only be heard
By the eyes of the beholder
The songs of the
Aurora Borealis
The Arctic Falcon in flight
I have sailed to the four corners
Of the Universe
And found nothing there
Chased a speeding comet
So that it may lead me to the sun
And have found emptiness
In all its worlds
And in a bottle
I found only a glare
Of a beaming stare
From an eagle and a compass
That pointed to my soul
And there
Was a frontier
That I have never encountered
An eternal place
I have for no reason
Never visited
And have for fashion sake
Ignored its welcome and community
What treasures do I have
To exchange or share?
What measures do I use to weigh
There values?
What do I have to trade
With these indigeneous people?
Will my welcome be worn
How long will I stay?
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