It is more often than not simply a concept

A thought and/or a fleeting goal

Like others

I am going to eat less

Exercise more

It often runs parallel to these fleeting goals

More often than not

There is another distraction

But the thing is

People do it all the time

We simply do not see them because they are no longer here

Letting go


Gently closing the door behind you never to be seen again


I lean on the broom

In my mind’s large conference room

Slowly spinning around

Discouraged by the disarray

Resolve slowly builds

All this shit has to go


Days later

I again spin around


We now have a clean workspace

The broom drops as I sit

Back to the wall, facing the center of the room

It is deathly quiet

“Talk to me”

She sits on the other side of the room

Her back against the opposing wall

She slowly raises her head

What I see most in her beautiful face

Is unemotional discouragement

She looks at me a long time without speaking

She looks down briefly, finally

Looking up again to meet my eyes

“Are you going to get serious now?”

I raise a hand

Palm out facing her

“I promise”

She says quietly

“You know, there is no going back



The look of unemotional discouragement is gone

Sometimes there is a pause in the work

A look down

A smile

Maybe a small laugh

With a shake of her head

Before the work resumes

But, things are being accomplished

And dreams


Are going crazy

I am beginning to doubt

They are dreams at all

I contemplate these memories

As sunlight pours through the open window


Wind, water and spray fill the conference room


I bound up the ladder to take the wheel

The quartermaster I am relieving taps me on the shoulder and departs

The young third mate that has just come on watch is out on the wing

The sun is going down

There is water in all directions

The sky is going crazy

As we slowly make way

I walk out on the wing and stand silently

We both have almost imperceptible smiles on our face

As we look forward

Into color, light and water


Without moving or turning

He quietly whispers a question,

“What could it all mean?”