I saw a sailboat recently,
its mast halfway to the wind
of my thoughts, it turned a little,
inclined to an overseer’s direction;
a sailfish on ripping waters.
Bleached sail leant against tide
of unstoppable forces, so
it did have an eagerness. Of seaweed
and wrecks, of the decayed forgotten,
it wasn’t going to be, yet.
Tide rocked the beach, it lapped
my senses and I noticed more the
distance between boat and the dunes,
it echoed unsentient weather.
Beyond, storms on the horizon,
they’ve menaced for years, caught
its attention with their hooks,
even though feet firmly stood
as a fisherman’s knot;
a mermaid sacrificed her hair for
this crew’s ropes.
With this knowledge, it moved on,
waves streamed past the hull,
left a trail for seagulls and I,
a determined wake until a speck from sight.
Nothing significant, but perhaps
the depths wouldn’t ever claim her.