Born of petrified time—
a vessel of charcoal and myth—
he sails between the coastal peaks
with a tiny pirate flag,
stealing from weary merchants:
peanut butter jelly sandwiches,
sliced apples,
trail mix…
This Robin Hood of the skies
disappears into his misty refuge—
but not before leaving something behind.
He feels sorry for them, you see.
For their slow, labored pace.
Their feet hopelessly earthbound.
So he offers a gift in return:
a soft place
where guiding stars are born
in the gut,
the chest,
the heart—
a gentle journey
back to the time
when mist preceded matter,
and all was one.
