Wake grasping the spars, sails, rigging
heaving upward entangled, struggling
winched to the top by the mind's heavy machine
leaving a shell gaped on desire's sharp-edged stones
surrounded by the wreckage of a plan
a design completed, realized, ruined.
I contemplate that disastrous course—charted by me
The winds that I ignored
That cold place where I founder and sink
To surface gasping and ashiver
With holes in the hull and every story
I ever told myself.