Oceana

Summer clouds her blue eyes, she knows she is free, but love is the big why, what separates from her bones, is stuff that makes her dream, the sight of water, a hero home, surrounded by impassive skies, she feels the pull of certainty, not some folded alibi, Our Lady says she’s not alone, sing yellow plans and schemes, the wind her great bellows, memory’s arc of scurried nights, a map, a bottle, all the wean, the thrill of troubled flight, conscious that she’s bold, sees the line of harvest teams, won’t do that tells herself so, she’ll sail again the sea .