for those anchored attitudes

I cannot stay anchored on this dock
where barnacles stick and rot.
Floorboards, one by one, splinter
at the sun. And salt, for what it's
worth dries out my skin.
I think I've tarried long enough
and played my part with ease:
the dutiful shipmate, the captain's hand,
I scrubbed the deck to gleam.
The plank so tempts me like a lover with a
promise -- not yet broken --
and one day soon I'll walk it
with intention to pave my way complete.
The anchor has weighed heavy,
deceitful and mocking,
towards worlds beyond the horizon.
Yet degrees of latitude and longitude
remain untraveled.
We dilly and we dally and then
pretend to live out wishy-washy dreams.
How it happened, I do not know: we somehow meant
to sail away. So here we are, worn out
and brittle; tired of the sunset as we wait for it
to rise.

©2011 b. cisek

*title line taken from Sylvia Plath's "Touch-and-Go"*