Two If By Sea

I’m about to tip this ship,

’cause in my mind

I can see the water rush by,

but it feels like

we’re not going anywhere.

When all there is to see

is sky and sea

and an unbroken horizon line,

it weighs hard on the mind.


The only excitement

comes when the Sun is gone

and the storms roll in.

We almost die,

but we have not;

thank God,

but every so often we lose someone.


Some might think it’s great;

like an endless vacation

in the Sun,

but the days wear into weeks,

stretch into months,

without a change in the horizon.


Sometimes I dream

about sailing off

the edge of the world

and out into the sky,

or just getting out

and walking away,

but I don’t have that kind of Faith;

not yet, anyway.


Here we are,

alone at last.

Nothing but us

and we haven’t spoken once.

Just cellmates, now.

Our ship drifts,

we might be miles off course,

but we haven’t cared

for  a while, now.


There’s plenty of fish,

fresh water and wine.

Hard to think that this

started as a pleasure cruise.

What are we to do?

Endlessly moving nowhere;

even the stars

have made their way

across the sky.


Maybe we ought to think

about sinking this ship,

abandon her

and float our separate ways?

I couldn’t bear rescue,

not knowing you were safe.


So I roll out the charts

and search the sky for signs,

look for a break

in the horizon line.

Keep us fed

and nourished

and safe

when the sea gets wild.


We’ll find safe harbour


and when we do,

it will be beautiful.

Then if you want,

we can sink this boat

and fly home,

just like we dreamed

while lost at sea.


HG – 2018

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