Time on the ship passes slowly and swiftly
at the same time, a mystery of syllables,
silences,
and rhyme.
I discover the beauty of waves
that come
and then go again, in patterns of long
and short
tidal rhythms.
When I experiment with a variety of styles
certain verses end up seeming as wide as the ocean
which pulls seawater back and forth so furiously
that even the brave
restless moon
follows.
I’ve given up the idea of home—all I have now
are dreams, and this need to roam.