Bound
I’ve booked passage, traveled
on a thousand narratives
always leaving by the gangplank
when the story ends. Pretending,
sometimes I make a return trip
to sip a favorite wine, take a turn
around some well-known room.
there’s bound to be fine conversation
at the silver-serviced captain’s table.
and I do eavesdrop on the crew
when passengers are too proper.
But I have always disembarked
at the voyage end. And why?
when life stumbles on
from gray to grayer?
it may be that the time has come
to travel, stray from the mundane.
Stay. Stow away.
slip from my stateroom
secrete myself among un-named crowds
the peripheral characters uncounted,
even by their makers, moving props.
un-knit my ravels and revel a while.
and if the play suits me well,
then, melt into the letters
like punctuation.
