i am soft mud, i haste the dark
old wood and nail. …i clasp the
of the ship’s bell- i forge its
destiny in the
cold, sloggering bottom.
i am eldering shadow, cast in
silver brine- i am
black about air, grimace casting,
i gather the
memories, the stillness, the tears;
i am master of the confessed.
i am unforgiving sea, hoaring,
beating sea. …
tumultuous wave and perishing
gloom; i send
to unsuspecting ships, falling
i am the proffer of the voel.
we are fifty souls, our ship asunder
in storm and brine,
the wind, the whorl, the ride of keel;
ruinous canvas and rigging. …
our fate cobbled
into depths and braided misfortune.
Copyright © 05/09/2016 lance sheridan®