Steer Here

They say be
in the moment.
I say I want to be 

in that moment—that night
three summers ago
on a boat as it changes 

its course beneath the Brooklyn Bridge.
Pause into slow turning, live
guitars propel the motion. 

Or that moment after
the boat has docked
on the bank of the Cuyahoga,

the sound of guitars
still rings
in my ears—lips 

on mine before I know
what or who 

is happening. But not that
moment followed by the next
of seemingly unending sea 

sickness on a ferry
as it rocks across
the Aegean. And not that one still 

to come that I cannot
fathom. How do I become
willing to let go of the old rail 

to recognize when another exalted one
might strike? This question hangs
on tight.

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