Listen to the engine beat, whisper of the wake
strain the eye and black of night
deny, a vision of the sea or sky.
Rush with sail aloft to catch each breath,
the creak of rope and block, all other sounds
disguise, except the angry rock and waves demise.
Blinded by the rain, mesmerised by lights
seen red or green, sometimes they fade
yet seem, to guide us through an endless shade.
Dawn shall come, and sleeping gulls arise
take wing, to skim the waves and
bring, a message to the naked land.
Pity the Landsman in his crumpled bed
of down, he does not know the nature of the
sound, that freshly minted sky and sea, compound.
From ‘Water’ Rising at,