So there was I, a river-skimming bark,
a traveling observer on the tide,
reacting to the sunlight and the dark,
disdaining anchorage at either side,
and thinking I could keep on drifting so,
until I’d spot a something on the shore
which captivated me. Then I would know
the time’s arrived to beach this metaphor.

I launched without a compass or a scope –
it’s like I thought I’d float with zero drag.
My pitch was whimsy and my ballast hope.
I never figured I would hit a snag
and tangle in a net of my own need:
myopic like I was, and simile’d.