the driftSometime last week, after the revelry of the new year had passed,
that bright resolve to steer the ship of my life in a freshly purposeful direction
was dismantled by sudden doubt, like a flash frost blinding the windshield.
I wandered the morning half-awake, wasting good daylight on a section
of a tricky crossword, mindless with my meals, stingy
with love. I could feel it, momentum draining out of me, trouble troubling
the water, and all my proclamations about change and opportunity
fell silent as old rocks. The day tumbled on, without visible meaning,
until bed, when a sliver of moon rose behind the house. It wasn’t an answer,
exactly, but I understood this: A journey calls for sea, not shore.