sawyer (![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} angrybonsai) wrote,@ 2007-09-02 22:18:00 |
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i empty my pockets and find a lighter, bits of tarred seine twine, cigarette butts, folded dollar bills (still damp), and nothing else really
i look at my hands and their skin has grown somewhat brown and calloused, i look at the moon (shining like a nickel catching glinting the sun that was tossed into the sky where it remains motionless), mars, jupiter and ursa major and ursa minor, draco, the summer triangle, what few constellations i know at all.
the sky is laced with thin diamond cirrus and the strip of land to the west broken by three or four lights of unidentifiable nature. we are on a starboard tack, the main, mizzen and fore sheeted generously; giving us a quiet run with the wind at our back
and on and through and around death's door i feel the planks of the deck on my bare feet, through the dead layers of skin still peeling, and a poem still turns in my head
still it turns again and again even though we have come back to dock and the moon is cut with a definitive arcing umbra of the the earth, and my time on the ship has come to an end
i must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
and all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
and the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
and a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking.
i look at my hands and their skin has grown somewhat brown and calloused, i look at the moon (shining like a nickel catching glinting the sun that was tossed into the sky where it remains motionless), mars, jupiter and ursa major and ursa minor, draco, the summer triangle, what few constellations i know at all.
the sky is laced with thin diamond cirrus and the strip of land to the west broken by three or four lights of unidentifiable nature. we are on a starboard tack, the main, mizzen and fore sheeted generously; giving us a quiet run with the wind at our back
and on and through and around death's door i feel the planks of the deck on my bare feet, through the dead layers of skin still peeling, and a poem still turns in my head
still it turns again and again even though we have come back to dock and the moon is cut with a definitive arcing umbra of the the earth, and my time on the ship has come to an end
i must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
and all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
and the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
and a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking.
