The voyage

She is set fair.
No more will storms
buffet and tug.
Her anchor weighed,

she swallowed link
on lumpen link,
and bit down hard:
watched it sink alone

with grim delight.
Her sails fill.
Safe through rocks
toward the sunset

and the deep wide sea
of fable and her memory.
No more tickling crew,
forever rearranging

her rigging. De-barnacled
in port, now sleek
under the waterline,
she flexes her rudder,

oiled supple, and executes
a perfect figure of eight.
Dolphins sew
her bow seam straight.

Any moment
she will shake loose
the crow’s nest,
lean her mast

into full weather,
conjure new sap
from brine and algae;
encourage leaves.