poem 90 of a poem a day for 2012

the read measures of time

like tides and basketing reeds

with eggs that cling between

whirlpools and rocks

hope never leaves 

the quiet or the streets 

in the supple reaches

that lull our watched turns

a crow's nest burns with

in the wheelhouses

we trace with bled fingers

along the way 

along the path 

the insides of the dreams

we all have

in each odyssey

that may be strange  

but oddly familiar

we love all to sigh

after finding

passage between

the hard places

and arms up doubt

that lace what

reaches for us to let go

so we lean back and oar

to see what the palms see

smooth stoning the dark

and finding our eyes

only protect the

reflections of light

near the narrow straits

of our swiftest shadows

EJR (c)