a little looser than a shoe,
"Pitch" and "roll" suddenly have meaning.
The sealake inhales,
we thrust forward and yearn
against the anchors gravity,
While windwaves wag us side to side.
We stalk sleep
attended by ancient groaning wood,
an uneasy lullaby.
In morning's sparkle
We crawl blinking from below,
driving dreams away with cups of coffee,
And carve the water with with dinghy's oars
to island shore,
There sand underfoot
Feels strangely too still.