The sea’s dream is the ship, endless
travelers in tandem with the sun.
The sea’s dream is the ship fleeing
an hourglass emptiness, still unknowing;
only the albatross, lumbering silently overhead,
sees the synecdoche of peopled architecture:
red-cushioned mouth, undone bow-tie,
grim hoodie on deckwatch.
The sea’s dream is the ship heading into evening,
percussionists playing silence from the shore;
those battened behind stare as the apparition surges
The ship traces patterns of freedom
over an ocean planet,
over the ballet of manta ray
and slow-falling fish,
everlasting underwater flights,
soaring from equator to pole.
The sea’s language is a thousand harmonies
of a thousand shores, phosphorescent writings
over ebb and flow,
Trailing the ship, a single raft kneels
under nicotined moonlight, inviting travelers
to kiss the sea’s ever-changing reflection,
unfold vestigial gills and fly
down, down, down to the sea’s secret garden,
our deepest memory.
The sea’s dream is the ship, a siren
endlessly luring travelers back
to the beginning.