If

I sail all my ifs to you
like a fleet of fishing boats
with small masts and their fishy smell.
They will harbor at dawn somewhere
not far from the tempting eyes;
closer than happiness
and farther than sorrow.
They will storm the thread of calm waters.
Tiny little boats. No cargo. Just them.
You'll see them when
you come out of your sleep.
And they will look at you with
their green mossy eyes, happily.
No I don't want them back
not today, not ever.
You can keep them.
I will stay here, without a thought
a hope or a wish, smiling,
and wait for you to return
just one ripple, if you could.

12/27/2005 3:05 PM - first posted