Elusive goalposts

I want to be a skipper of gold horizons
Instead, my ship ran aground in the pages of a book
Apricot clouds like ornamental fish
             float across my evening panorama
My outstretched grasp flails and retracts
I have nothing to show for it
Assailed by violet winds
My sails cannot catch.

With dusk, a cumulus chorus crescendos 
             ever deeper centre stage
By this time, there is no more gold,
The sun evades me every time,
Leaving only periwinkle embers
And a green light at the end of the docks.