February 17th, 2002

Porcupine

One year ago:

My anchor does not reach the bottom of the sea;
I am adrift. And yet I let it hang,
a lifeline without life,
illusions of stability,
of safety and the past.

My rudder is long gone, in which storm I do not know;
I am adrift. And yet if you can see,
in your magic mirror:
Standing on the bridge,
I hold my sextant high.
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