The Writer's Nest

I would ask for meanings, if allowed,
Of the many words which float
As messages in paper boats do;
There for all the world to see.
Because I am afraid now
Of falling off the cliff of difference
That seems to be present
Between what is said,
And what I understand.

These words seem miraculous
For they sound as if spoken
From the depths of my own agony
Instead of the writer’s;
Perhaps it is the same?
But the words are not mine
And I dare not claim anymore
To understand what was meant.

To ask for meanings,
I must sail my own boats
And that plan suffers
From the same flaw of interpretation.
But I must, of course,
For there exists now a vast ocean
And only a vessel made of feeble paper.
I can only hope
That the ocean does not engulf it.

Then again, the ocean is free after all.
Who knows if the boat was even headed my way.