• The Caravel


    I am, a caravel
    Three masts piercing
    the Mediterranean sky.
    The water rolls under me,
    it breaths and speaks to me,
    it tells me that if I stay steady I
    will find wind, and my sails will catch
    like so many wings of angels to carry me across
    the bright blue sea.

    The sea never lies.
    I find you, and you push
    yourself against the bosom of
    my sail tarps and I stretch and my
    bows creek. I sway and I am moving so
    quickly I feel like water has become air.

    Then you leave as air
    will do at times. Leaving
    me to wonder if you were ever
    there at all. I am still, twirling
    like a top in the middle of a forgotten
    bay out in the port of an uncharted world.

    There are other ships
    They are much larger than
    I. I am a caravel. How do I
    persuade the wind to stay put
    and carry me across the ocean again.