mellowGood times before the voyage.
I take a stroll down by the slips;
Murmur of water against razor sharp inboards.
No fog but foghorn blowing
Distant... my soul.
Lights sparkle between horizon waves;
The stars are voyagers, too.
Won't you?
Morning bright;
Leather hands pull at hemp.
Spinnaker flies.
Roll, pitch, and yaw;
Swaying into the sun.
Tacking against the wind.
Hanging on the trapeze;
Dipping my back into the waves.
Won't you?
Nearing the edge,
I run aground
On the last shoal.
Climbing the stone
Of farsight,
Fingers dislodge memories.
No more time for home fires;
The sun sets eternal cascades afire.
Won't you?
The stars my destination.
The jewel of new mornings within my grasp
And nights of milky madness
Call across the abyss.
I alight upon mists of silvery moonshine
And cross to the other shore.
Won't you?
