Raft, a poem

Raft

A raft of words remains, the wreckage
of our voyage, bearing me 
across unknown horizons, empty
seas that yearn to grasp the stars.

Shall I, too, yearn? I, too, have depths
untouched by light. What swims those depths?
What cold and patient monsters hunger,
silent and insatiable?

They lurk as motionless as I,
anticipating nothing more
than that the errant currents bring.
They bring the unnamed stars I swallow.

Those can never fill me now.
For you I gathered handfuls once;
their light is lost. They have no substance,
float away, drift as do I.

The corners of the sky grow silent;
across expanses of forgotten
song and sea, night scatters dream,
to echo, echo, and to fade.

Stephen Brooke ©2026