Determination

I remembered in time,
random
though it were
the wind a brittle cold
raking my eyes and my nose and my cheeks and
prompting my body to action

A pang — I twitch to think of the moment
contortion my mouth
A yacht upon an increasingly turbulent tide I reach to the sail
and yank hard, pulling down
and down
This wind will not sway me.

But the chilly spray wakes
that damp icky cling itching and sticking and stinking
close
This water was cerulean and shining a
magnifying glass clear and beautiful
now green churning and gritty no longer innocuous

I hold to the mast solid and rough and steadfast.
What was
comes again storm cloud redundancy on a bland and
icy gray horizon; clammy hands slap the hull
This wind will not sway me.

A golden blinding warmth shall rise from ash skies
color vibrant and living will spring from the dull
and lifeless
I hold to the mast solid and rough and steadfast
ignoring the gust and the spritz and the numbness of circumstance
This wind will not sway me.