The art of sleeping arrows

when the moon is a sheep in the sky
your routers slept when you stood in front of me
with cases drying the wood around me
disparaged and idealized like soft mountains

don’t you ever cry
I am just moments away
sleeping on tables
meant to be rearranged

God intended to give you a crying boat
much like the turbulence of the rite of passage
but God has decided to preclude your troubles
now you can move on to help everyone you know

there are several lost trials
maybe, we think, God could have left something
in the view of the sailors
we have eloped and dream in softening silence
these sheep have been through the desert
and back again to count our time-traveled heartbeats