To be

 To be a lithe fishing boat, 

Curvaceous, turning with the rises  

Arcing brow, luscious aged wood crafted with care

dropping and lifting, 

So unlike

A barge, 

slow, heavy, groping the sediment and debris not yet dredged 

Leaving in the tailwind a trail of oil

I want to have a brow that dips sways

I want to have a mast that catches the wind 

But I have a motor and I have a mission from port to port to port.

At sighted land unburdened;

I’ll pretend that the small waves can move me too.

Inner critic

Let it take the time it takes 

Even thorough I want it done-

Accomplished and forgotten.

Let it take the time it takes 

For hope to rise again

The recuperation of a disintegrated self.

Let it take the time it takes 

Abiding the yelling threats that stopping will be fatal.

If I’m not pushing, I’m completely failing. 

Let it take the time it takes 

To rest in the proof of being insufficient

Yet sufficiently held, and released.