Wayfarer

I know a name, a supple leaf all vein
and sap, a sacred map that is your face,
a chart to port. I know a place by which
to berth by night, to anchor by. The way
a zealous tree will spread its roots about
the earth, so too I grasp, so that I might
enfold your sea. Or so I try, albeit in vain.
And when the light of day returns—
when the light of day returns I drift
away and let you go, for, see? I know
your name, I know your face; I have a map.