The Ship is in pitch darkness now. The engine is turning over gently.
Many of the crew are in their quarters. The captain is upon the bridge
and the anchor is far below, in the beneath world, holding us tightly
onto this one.
The ship protected by cupped hands of light awaits morning. From the
sky we are a firefly caught upon a spiders web wafting in wind.
Snowflakes flocks of white butterfly spirits released from under the
clouds land on my shoulders. And as the they melt the sun smears
itself on the back of the clouds who in turn spread her light equally
across the sky. Morning has come.