See the children of anew

Bracing play on a frame

Of something forever holy.

Whence does the storm arrive

To appeal a risker’s vision?

North, east, south, west, from God?

From then, with sights set yonder

Over forked winds

Of great seas.

Where does the eye meet the sky,

After the cattle lie to rest

In the fields of foretelling?

Beyond the power

Of one man

And all men.

To be hindered

By the curious fruit of the mind:

Life’s great meaning.

The place where the sights do not reach

May be the destination

For which all search.

Through storms, none can be seen,

So the desperate prayers send

To be saved by the Ark.

Henceforth, a blind hunt

For the ponder:

Where does the eye meet the sky?