Night sailing

I have been sailing 
through a night of dreams
with a high wind
at the mast of my soul.

The ship of my emotions
tossed and heaved
through a maelstrom of memories; 
the deep swell of insecurity 
whipped to a white spume of spray.

Then I woke 
and the only waves 
were the ruffle of bedsheets;  
the only swell the rhythms of breath but
the rumble of the storm still
echoed in my head.

The morning sun glistened 
off the beads on the window,
a galaxy of water droplets, pure as light,
that might have been the morning dew
or might have been 
the stinging salt spray 
from the land
of distant dreams.