No more messages in amber and celadon bottles,
or letters full of bees
smoked out of glued envelopes, stamped
with gargoyles from your corner of hell.
Oui, you are the navigator of this small boat.
Yes, the silver needle on the compass points true north.
Non, the sun is not temporary.
Oui, the moon is a mountainous eye with a vision.
Look, already you are asleep
inside the body of the mother
in your dreams.
Yes, you will be delivered.