At the Harbor

I sail away;

There isn’t an anchor

To keep in place

This that no longer has one;

No harbor can contain

The ship, that’s turned

Into the storm, by which

It was all but devoured;

/

I take with me my ghosts

To sing me lullabies

When I cross the horizon

Into the night;

And I take with me my cargo

Of memories,

Which will not slow me now

With their heaviness;

/

I leave for you to play with

Three souvenirs:

My shape, my voice and the name,

By which you knew me;

Maybe, in my stead

You’ll love them unsuspectingly

Or curse them, perhaps, when you sense

That there is something missing;

/

Mine is a cruel joke,

Isn’t it?

Mine is a heartless test

Of your heart;

I do not ask you to forgive

But to laugh with me;

To pass or fail,

But to do so honestly;

/
Trust that

For you I wait

At the horizon

Eternally