Wednesday, May 24, 2006
leaving shore-safe stability,
the certainties of rock-bound ground,
seeking change on swelling tide.
The hard salt air needling exposed skin
winds cold fingers rhythm struggling eyelids.
But this is freedom -
a sail clasping the bluster,
a prow searing the briny road,
age-hardened sailor at the wheel.
The creaking speeches of boards
and the answering slaps of cloth on wood
sing their shanty to the works of God.
Time is measured in pitch and yawl
and the cheering cries of gulls.
This is life on the edge
this freedom from the slavery of tomorrow.
Posted by Keith Wallis at 7:47 pm