Two more of these.
"Temporary."
The desperate will consider a boat
made of ice, the one in love, the fool
for whom the boundaries have disappeared.
The teacup spoke, the chair, the brass doorknob,
the child ascribing consciousness
to every object in the room.
You feel as though you play the role of nothing,
that you've failed to show up for your own life.
Having seen the stars once, the clouds closing over,
the old man sailed--
what else could he do--
as though he knew the coordinates.
Temporary.