Aerial Comes of Age

I wasted time discovering creatures
that lurk in the depths of oceans
and in dark caves beyond the horizon,
while pining for my lord and master,
Prospero, the grand magician.
I conjured a burnished seaweed striation;
played bagatelle with pinpricks of light
shaken from a fallen constellation;
tumbled in sea mists, waves and sand;
drew showers of stars out of the night
that trickled through my childish hands
and left holes in the welkin.
When the world was stuffed with darkness,
crawling with death and furtive fear,
I remembered my master’s forgiveness
and patience, how he quelled Miranda’s tears.
I dived and retrieved his books and staff,
gathered every glimmer of brightness
that still sparkled on waves and sand,
threw showers of stars back into the night
with the steadiness of a maturer hand.