The Floating Arkives
    of Gary A. David

Vintage message or sour grapes?  These bottles
I, a midnight helmsman, caste upon cyberseas
are, for better or worse, a life's work: my ecstasies

or bitter nadir, sole light playing upon the veil
of maya, translucent sail of dreams, reflections
on droning oceans of desire, star fire telescoped

vision kisses, phosphene glints, glimpses
of vedic realms on far shores, psalms' sorrow
in the valley of the shadow.  My craft

is an ark, the world's arc. An arc light welds
a pair of cherubim in time, archangels
longing for a luciferian dawn .  .  .

What's one life worth? Shelves of books? Sheaves of notes?
Only love that leaves the soul to sing
                                                           floats.
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