RIPPLES

The night
is utterly immersed
in a mood rich sea of consuming crests
pulling my soul in riptides of confusion
without a single wave of profound
to give the flow any sanity or direction.

Slowly, I let my very essence
get lost in the visions of rhythmic swells in solitude and silence,
while being alone of spirit and any companion sense of touch.

But, I feel no panic in the hint
of a muted lure from that heartbeat,
instead sensing a burgeoning calm to disquiet
where my limp imagination feigns to soar.

Then come the lurid splash of swelling invention
as my numb and paralytic pen
revives by the stir
from what my poet's compass knows
moves beneath a moment's surface.

Each second becomes lucid droplets so refreshing —
ripples in my aquatic flood of fancy's former stagnant dreams
till I conjure a sail of wonder
to guide me to some distant isle
where the muse's waiting fertile fields
will again bring blossoms of healing
unto my impotent fingers.