Your incapacity for bravery and
my disenchantment of fear
create a vacuum which once was disguised as velvet
and now feels like dull, aching cold.
We are on a boat, you and I.
A big purple one with cushions and dust.
Only now, the boat has sunk and we negate the
properties of water.
These nautical patterns known to us
are comforting and also spiny.
They are the only formula memorized for a test
that no longer is used to measure any capacity, intellect, or memorization.
We speak as if something special was created.
In reality, the only truth is that of repetition.
The same story, thousands of years old,
is traced across the planet with wind currents and doldrums.
We once navigated these waters with an astrolabe
but this is outdated.
The water does not grow more still,
but instead the tempest and the squall are there
to show us with pressure and temperature
what has been ignored.
There is no albatross to give us sign of hazard
but also no relief from doubt and rain.
The patterns continue to lead us closer to land
and farther away from the shore.