The Muse Conversations Pt 30

I wonder if I was cleared for take off? Whether if I botched the landing
would it matter, but from the glass blue surface of the water,
I failed to see what difference it might make.
Ripples, turbulent, askew and slightly adrift of buoyant
seemed to percolate like bubbles, beading like the dew of freshly laid ink.
These penned sentences of truth leading down a runway of no turning back,
climbing its ascent through clouds of white possibility, carelessly letting go
of the ground, and forgetting to check its bearings.
I failed to see what difference it made to get lost, letting one’s compass
spin into overdrive, somewhere west of magnetic north and still heading
eastward. Nomadic as a syllable let loose in any line, free to stir , gather and gallop
upon any Bermuda triangle it came across.
I disregarded the directions, tossed the map into the ashtray, gliding into auto-pilot,
and steering towards where the horizon looked the flattest.
Lo and behold, laying undiscovered, was an oasis of beauty, still natural and innocent, still
Edenesque and pure. The island of you, unconquered curves of unparalleled sublimity, so breathtaking, so utterly magnificent, that I became
Robinson Crusoe on purpose and never regretted a single hour.