Six years

give or take a day; 

from when he went missing,

was lost,

then his body found

and placed on ice,

waiting for the authorities to confirm he was

who we knew him to be.

six years

of forging ahead.

His post mortal gift;

a ticket to travel 

to the outer edge of myself,

like a ship in full sail,

at the end of the flat earth

that was found to be round. 

Six years 

poured into work,

things that could be managed,

that made sense.

Into perpetual motion

a centrifuge designed 

to keep the sharks 

at bay.

Six years 

my hair turns silver,

my face is lined

my eyes tired.

My days bound 

by structures and rules others set.

 I long to return 

to the land at the limit of what is known.

Six years

New love has cloaked me in fabric

warped by the weft of time,

pattern fading, 

It frays easily when cut.

Yet when it is tied to love’s mast

the winds of the world’s ills can blow

and I am not at sea.

Six years.

Once the term 

of a global voyage.

Thinks and things change.

In uncharted waters  

storms brew,

new horizons loom, 

new worlds wait to be discovered.