Intuitive

I live in the future and the past
dreaming of the day we met
and the day you will leave me for the skies.

I nostaligise a life cushioned in you,
where my hair is stroked lovingly until I sleep,
and the darkness brings its own resounding comfort.

Instead, my heart is thrown out to sea
in a little green basket. An adventure, they say –
shivering, wave-tossed, lonely – a new adventure of faith.
And though I may study under giants, or earn mountains
of earthly treasures, or encounter princesses in far-off lands,
I shun all this.

I dream of one wish – not riches, power, or wisdom –
but that God would steer this humble vessel of bulrushes
down old familiar streams,
to bring me back to you.