Cement Is Setting On The Sails Of My Ship

My mind drifts.

Thoughts disperse in tiny cuts

as the whip licks its lips.

Memories break away

in large grey chunks of ice

and crash into the sea

sinking out of sight.

I lose the marks and blazes on the path

and mourn their loss.

I wonder why I throw my tears

against the wailing wall.

Demons drink their tea

while curling in my ears.

They leave a swirling trail

of leaves in the bottom of my cup.

I cannot read them.

Cement is setting

on the furling sails of my ship.

I trace the patterns of the grains

in hardened sand

until it falls between my fingers.

As I lose the trail again,

I do not know what course to set.

I am adrift.

You take my hand

and walk beside me

as we track a memory past.

We wade through thoughts

that try to pull us off the path.

I stumble and you tighten your grip.

When we reach the clearing

where the sun

paints mottled patterns on the grass,

We take a breath

and then we walk

together into the bliss.

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This story also appears on Medium by Tree Langdon, the author.