A View

Desire is anticipatory happiness;
Dread is prophylactic unhappiness.
If I only stagger through rows of sheared feelings,
I am forever wedged between them and source,
between then and soon.

Keeping my head and heart down like some
stage actor whose thinks the performance is commendable.
Only to find that the audience has gone home.
Ghostly maybe's float transparently about,
Weaving their way through conversations
Held now.

Is there hope for the perennially serene?
When does serenity come from surfing,
and not swimming?
Oh, yes. Life has a way of
sinking the ship.
There is a level of truth that can only
come from diving straight down.
How can such a watery journey
Lead to such fire?!