The waves lap and crash
around the hard carcase of the canvas core.
The waves lap, they splash some more
of the old, worn down bone, salt and water spray.
I drift off, loosen the noose of the tough knotted rope
slip off, with the tug and thump of coarse platted hope.
The waves, lap, lap, lap against the hull
the spine and the scull of this hollow body keeping me afloat
they slap and thud at the briny-rough shell-belly of my boat.
Lulled, out of the harbour towards a flat horizon,
surged by the urge of the waves out -
with back to brackish mangrove coast and
hardcast-harbour, passed the expelled swells
from the estuary, where the river leaves to meet the sea -
the boat’s body and bow curves but stays upright
sways and the sail is pulled tight.
Catching current, drawing breath, inhaling in,
the wind fills my lungs and her sails as though they were wings.
and the waves, lap, lap, lap against the hull
the spine and the scull of this hollow body keeping me afloat
they slap and thud at the briny-rough shell-belly of my boat.