Journey to the East

By Roy Dean Doughty
Written 1/9/08

Someone noticed that the ship was moving,
And the stars, which a moment before had seemed
Almost stationary, began tilting westward.
It was then, then, that the world was divided,
And the sleepless ones on deck knew that night
Had a limit. We were bearing east towards dawn.
Even in mid-ocean, we could smell the essential
Difference. The salt air, our history of tears,
Began to give way to a subtle weaving of perfumes,
As if rocks and trees and green things were
Breathing spring even in the icy corridors of winter.
The air on deck at the prow began to fill
With dreams. It was then, then, that the dead began
To stir from their slumbers. It was then they began to sing.

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