Ideas asphyxiated under their own weight-
what is the heaviness of brilliance
that goes unheeded?
Wouldn't we rather christen this luminescent thought
like the bow of a still-dry vessel,
crystalline shards of champagne
still clinging to its steel and shine?
Or perhaps we're better off avoiding the ceremony,
and instead holding ideas high as the wind
like a handkerchief between hands...
to be sailed to a land yet undiscovered,
to be shared with the horizon.
Is it about the vessel, the handkerchief, or the wind?
