on someone you may know

The hypocrisy of Our Flagship sets

sail every Wednesday, as

the hidden sun begins its long climb.

My one wish was once to send it off, a

(violent) crash of glass against its

impenetrable hull.

Jaded by its comings, its goings

new longings (to bask in the stately glow

of its cabins) overwhelm

with their velocity.

Gloved hands wave farewell

on the distant shore.

I lower mine, wondering, would

I ever be the one looking down?

(clasping the rail in exultation

of my own arrival, hardly

remembering the ants on the shoreline

left behind with one step onto gangplank)

Bliss itself looks paperthin when

outside the portholes, looking in.