Another sonnet by Jovian
An island in a sea of empty space
Gives pretense of a land some once called home
A land once fixed in memory may roam
And yet still dare to call itself a place...
A ghost's familiarity, a ruse
That taunts us with its substance-lacking form
May yet become a harbor in the storm
If one can but endure to give it use.
A stranger can in strangeness yet imbue
A power and a transitory calm
Perforce a falsehood must become a balm
And ghosts at sea will steer their courses true.
This journey home, a timeless watch we stand
And then debark a distant call from land.