fly you seabird, but remember, everywhere is a place to land

My moods change like the sea, and maybe this storm will rain. There's a place in summer, I can never find. It's the edge of the rain. Leprechauns search for the end of rainbows; I search for the edge of the rain. I want to sail on the knifes edge, with lightning on one side of the mast, and sunshine on the other. I want to see the first drops of rain, to find the edge of the storm. I want to lay my nets along that edge. I want to catch the storm in a net, and tame it. Give it treats when it's good. Pat it on the head. And only let it out when I'm not busy, and have time to throw sticks for it. I want to drag it along behind my boat. I'll unleash it on ports that wont let me anchor. I'll unleash it on bigger boats that laugh at me. I'll turn it loose right above me, and I'll challenge it, and ask it questions and taunt it; I'll tell it I've tamed it. It can do its worst -- I'm impervious. I have my poncho on. My boat was made for the sea, and I was too. My moods are worse than the storm, and I'll scream and that storm will cower in its net. It will be afraid of me. But I'll be nice to it. I'm not bitter about the storm. It's a storm, so it has to rain and thunder all the time, or it wouldn't be a storm anymore. I'm just tired of how long it's lasted, tired of not seeing land, tired of there being no one else out here, on this open sea, no one else chasing the edge of the rain with me.