Sea Dreaming

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.

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