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
somewhere,
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
