at the helm

my only companion is the minutes
that pursue the lines in stillness

the lines don’t signify—
they pass me by silently, alone

the way fades into transparency,
breaking the lines as they float below

wheels that reveal the color
follow the form of the lines

these lines, placed just beyond
the reach of entrance or departure

angled to impose boundaries—
lines scattered into (be)fore and aft(er)

sail on necessities—what isn’t there,
which lines to cross, and the whole

entire all