One Dinghy, No Coxswain

If I were a boat, I'd drift. Away from you.
That's all boats really seem to do.

Not any way in particular;
I don't know how it happens.
North, South, East, West -
We all seem to float away to world's end.

Don't lose her,
Don't lose him,
Don't lose them.
Don't lose you.

What's in my sail?
Whatever it is, bernoulli's taking me
Into a bottomless sea of books and papers
And more: that which I love.

Sinking into a sea of my passion,
Drowing within a sea that I've fashioned.

Too musch Self,
Not enough Else.

Or am I even drowning?
Perhaps it's the new surroundings?
And I'm only drifting.
Into complete humidity.
250%. Learn to breath the water, and then I'll see.

It's only
Too much Self,
Not enough Else.

If I were a boat, I'd drift away from you.
After all, that's all I ever seem to do.

Realization:

It begins, tomorrow at 8:50.

Surreal beyond reality.

And I'm in denial,
And I know we'll forget our cold feet once we're swept up in the currents,
And I know we'll all be looking back at our shores, reflecting at year's end.

Fortunately, all we have to go is forward.

(written August 24, night before 09-10 school year's beginnings)