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Cut the Anchor, Oh Lord

Cut the Anchor, Oh Lord
By Theresa Shreffler

cut the anchor, oh Lord, I feel the swell
compel me forward, a great wave
of humble beginnings. I know
I shall not walk this shore again,
not in the daylight clasping slender hands
nor at evening, when we gazed high and low
to the gentle stars setting, rising, spinning--
swept of their own volition, here I have laid
moored for seasons to a firm dock
and stone paths where feet have come and gone.
I once sat upon the shoreline and watched
ships of all sizes, full of children
drift back and forth to the horizon, and wondered
how far and long, and how cold that sea
and where the lands that only others see,
our sails are waiting for an errant breeze
and here it is, at dawn, mercilessly
playing with the flap and fold. cast the rope
my pilot, compass, ocean's guide and captain's cloak;
I know the shore, and I greet the endless waves.