Wind, Water and Wings
The sail flutters at five knots
onward, the ballooned curtain
now one with the wind,
spreads its patched white wings and
lunges me ahead.
A knot for every year.
The taste of fresh salt
floods my all-seeing eyes and unmutes
the songs of the wind and wild water
splashing the lapels of the fishing yacht.
The net will never see dead fishes again--
or hooks, or baits or promiscuous men.
The Noah’s Ark will rescue hope:
harbour unions of the wind, water and wings
to cleanse my world again.
Rejuvenated.
Not shunned by
the tiresome journey of unsaid words.
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