above me, schooners softly sail

as if rafts of summer cotton,

set slow adrift on wisps of windy waters,

ever forming, so transforming,

an endless, playful re-creation

of moving mists amongst moving moments,

above me in their billowed sails of innocence,

passing by.

above me, schooners softly sail,

upon the unseen currents of living light,

the cool is warmed,

the warm is cooled,

the clear, clear air becomes as frosted breath,

the breath of God, perhaps,

but more likely,

yes, more likely,

the breath of boyhood dreams.

above me, schooners softly sail,

slowing ever slowing,

this hurried life below.

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