Naval gazing

As your surprise fleet
of new-clad thoughts
nips nimbly through
so narrow and branching 
a channel, I stand athwart the locks 
and wonder

Are you coming down the line
on a rigid heading, or reenacting
the steps of prior self-examination?
Rather than making way by leap
and creep, right now? Or...?

Pardon me. That's kind of private
intel, but I know it would drive me
NUTS if it were all the same to me. 

Is it...is it that
on some level you have
a vested goal in reaching the same
end the same ways, always
coming through just so?

Oh it isn't, it isn't rote!
Surely no. I mean, navel-gazing
is involved, but that's only one
of a number of key bodily or mindful chakras
being gazed into and through, tickled,
like ivories, raked, razed and raised.
Like stakes. It's pure navel-gazing,
when one indulges in it
to elevate one's self
as an object of interest and
engrossment, sure. But
when one is trying to

delve, or plumb
some line, or tap and plume
some foaming spring, or fathom
and tune secret mechanisms by which
one normally turns outward to order
the world in disparate reflection
of it or them? Surely it loses
that narcissistic cast
and becomes the whole, healthy,
extended arm of difficult, effortless 
gift?

To another? Of oneself whole - by sound
and sounded, tried part. Trying to give
self true (which ought to be easy)
and deep (which ought never be 
tried).

Anyway, it all transforms into a natural,
grandiose yet innocent, even benevolent
megalomania, maybe? This golden or colorless
transparent high focus. Some angle of light,
unseen ever before. Just hit upon! Some

thing

good.

Spotted and volunteered on the spot!
Something
with the bad sense of two or more
of the ugliest words
leached away, while
the core, original sense of each
stands forth stripped and pure,
blushing.

Stood stark and bare
of sense, coming in 
swift and sure
upon the deck of one
of many ships. Armed 
to the teeth, and easy

as she goes

with it.