Sea Wind

There is fire in the skies:

the bright aurora; it flies,

flows and swirls, in waves,

through currents of time, wind and space

in worlds aloft.

Many-hued veils,

crimson, azure, vert,

purpure; and smoky trails

which as jewels flirt

and nimbly flit

amongst clouds moonlit.

The patched sails leap

to work, as sleep

leaves their tired, limp bodies

and breezes fill their bellies.

Swiftly the vessel moves, its

bows slice through bursts

of phosphorescence

and windy nighttime gusts

that blow the sunrise

through darkened skies

to my windwashed eyes

as night dies

for the awakening sun to lay

a golden pathway

that from me stretches

into the east.

The gentle sea wind murmurs

as creaking timbers

of the last storm complain

of violent gales again.

The breezes carry

sea smells, news,

the occasional memory

and salty sprays

mingled with the bitterness

of seafaring’s wages:

callused hands, hard

from frayed rope fibres.

The bowsprit thrusts ever forward

into boundless horizon

and mythical unknown

as I onward wander

under the great sapphire coverlet.

The taste of saline wind

lingering in the heart

as it whistles through the rigging,

encompassing and caressing,

it refreshes

my seaborne soul.