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.