ship's horn, now
deeply drink some breath of sea.
stars upon dark glass, skipping quick
passing yellow float plane's chug
treebound land now slips away
ship inscribes a giant silver slalom.
In channels to the West
isles recline 'pon thin bed of mist.
Scattered o'er these darkened waves:
broken rafts of bladderwort.
below these foam-topped shadows:
garden of the kneeling serpent.
We, who bask upon the eve,
transfixed by the glow,
We, who fasten moments in a box,
spilling words in rivers,
We, who carve white channels on the sea,
grasping with encrusted nets,
We, who painted gold across our skin,
posing betwixt petaled lips,
We, who scrabbled postholes into rock,
weaving toothpicks into quilt,
We, who sailed from the sun,
gazing fore and aft as Janus,
We, who held our loved ones close,
sharing moment's warmth 'fore night:
Never know what pass beneath.
Never witness wave's embrace
upon the furthest shore.
Friday Harbor to Anacortes, WA
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