Standing Up After Reading Whitman Early
James Carson Murphy
He sails on the ocean of
morning, keeping watch from the
high windows here, beating this
house eastward, always, against
the forceful current of light
racing endless minutes to
boom whitely above the lake.
The strand of night behind him,
he boldly navigates the
terminatorīs reef to plow,
face anointed with daybreak,
the deeper waters of hope.
Each day a new sailing. Each
day the fresh tide of promise.
