Sailing to windward Biography

If life
was more than a teardrop,
clinging,
briefly,
...

Ages ago,
he converted
to envy
...

When I’m gone, I will be
quiet as a mouse;
My scent upon the pillow still,
But I will have left the house.
...

What's expected of this thing called hope;
is it a medicine; is it just smoke?
Merely a screen - perhaps a misty haze,
to sweeten our journey around life's maze?
...

At birth,
a tag on the wrist
generates a list
of places one may roam.
...