I stare fascinated
In horror of the wreck that
She used to be
And has become
A train that missed the platform
Breaking too early
Or Too Late

A placid storm
Turned to dust
Vortex without vertex
The missing point
Being it

To unravel the wind
The hooks that flail
In emptiness
Surely the furies must be
If they leave such a trail

The meeting of minds
May bring a semblance
Of sense
But nothing can fill
This lack of presence

Seeking questing within without
Knowing clearly, without a doubt
That the hunt is what it is
Capturing the sail
Can the wind be far behind?


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