What appears on far horizon

may be sought, may never be found —

like trying to hold the ring of a bell

      past the midnight toll of sound.

Why a pelican never looks beyond

the next fish to be caught and had —

wind never judges which way is which

      rain waters the good and the bad . . .

The boundary we see above the sea

becomes like hope, so it seems —

As our hearts unblind to truth and light

      We die to yesterday’s dreams.

Someday they say when lapping waves still

at rest inside a new dawn —

old land and sea will no longer be

      the horizon line will be gone . . .