When it was finally time to board, we found ourselves on a small plane, much like the one we’d taken from Springfield to Chicago—only this one was emblazoned with a shamrock and the airline name Aer Lingus. Upon boarding the captain announced his name as Seamus O’Connor.
Well. That turned very Irish very quickly.
Another takeoff, more flying. By now I was in some kind of trance or limbo. This was my lot now, to be forever stuck in transit, always hopping from one airport to another amid days and nights that didn’t match my body’s internal clock. I was so tired…so tired.

The Hollow

I’m caught once again betwixt two beacons’ glow
No, rather two sirens beseeching my ear
They beckon me unto them; juts ‘neath the flow
Do threaten to tear me asunder with fear

Their voices do battle, each other o’er me
Each claims theirs the sweeter, theirs honey that’s pure
Their rage caused the boiling, the thrashing, the sea
So wrathful my safe return I can’t be sure

Where the water meets the sky
Blurring the horizon
Ships are sailing on the clouds
To the world above.
Waves are standing still,
Waiting until
It fades away;
Music from the ocean’s shore
Calls me now to stay.

Sailboats sway in a waltz with the sea
Seagulls laugh as they call out to me
In the sky, so beautifully free.
Silently, I watch them fly away.

Vast is the ocean
Singing its song
Roaring and free.
Lulled by its motion
Ringing along
Silently.

I catch the waves
Slapping the sand
Washing me clean.
My soul, thirsty, craves
This peaceful land
It’s beauty to glean.

Blue is the sky
Soft are the clouds
Drifting up there.
Rest draweth nigh,
Sleep now enshrouds
Every care.

All is silence.

SIREN

Rises from the ocean
Wet hair shining, black;
Skin pale, white;
Calling, beckoning,
"Come, come hither."

Stop the ears, close the eyes,
Deaden the heart
To her fatal song.
Set the sail; away, away.
Do not pass her by.

The eternal fighting
Of the cage'd beast
Sometimes gentle, sometimes fierce.
With the power
To coax or kill
Play or fight;
Yet unable to free itself,
The basic act of survival.
The captors of the salty foam
Have yet to bend it to their will,
Yet will and will remains,
Ever greater still.

They compare eyes to windows,
a way of looking in;
or glassy, like a mirror--
are you but a reflection?

Eyes like water, too, they say:
deep pools, deep seas.
But pools may freeze
and seas may swell with storm.

Glass and water, they trade
similes as one and same.
A pool of tears, a looking glass--
I'm always slipping through.

But I can't reach through this mirror.
Ice has covered
the pool of your reflection;
there is frost on the window to your soul.

 (This isn't really a poem, but I hope you will like it anyway)

I had imagined,

A starry night, an ethereal whisper whisper of wind and the deep, navy blue sea

Where tiny waves reflect the moon's rays

The scent of pine trees and salt engulfed me.

I had imagined,

My knitted, mauve top over my cold body,

My denim shorts leave my legs bare, absorbing the ivory moonlight

I'm running, leaping, spinning.

I had imagined,

The jade green and hibiscus purple burst out into the twinkling sky

Crystal waves

from a crystal sea

come a crashing over me.

Come they swift

from afar off.

The water feels crisp

I float in the trough

of a giant wave

buoyantly carried aloft

balancing in the spray

completely safe.

Ever and always drawn to the sea

in love with the waves

and with the spray so salty.

I wade out waist deep

to stand in the breakers

surf on the waves,

plunge myself deep

under the surface

in perfect peace.

Sad to leave