When I want to perform special errands,
I map a path to your place,
but boundless earth offers no ends.

My dreams are flung like seed.
Sparrows pick them up
from spent November fields.

Leaves lie about dying,
clouds flash ironic smiles,
invite the coming frost.

Fruitless, I scramble over rocks
draped in slippery moss,
find open doors, rusted hinges, empty houses

follow the coast,
watch boats that could be you
slip toward horizon.

I face impossible seas
like the Irish king
who marched into the foam,

delusional, cursing fate,
a heavy sword hurled at
unforgiving waves.

I drop the regal metaphor,
find horseshoe crabs
mating on the beach,

ancient garbage, dead cliches
revived, living fossils
drawing circles through time

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