Pushed hard to starboard,
Her gunn’l kisses the vast wet,
Shuddering in orgasmic fervor
Along her keel, thrumming into the deep,
Bow digging in, shaking it off, spray flying.
She’s a thoroughbred running for the joy of it
Heart of teak and sail aching for the horizon.
Blue-green foam hisses past her hull,
Tackle creaks and groans,
Pushed taut and dangerous by a hectoring,
Keening wind rising on our stern quarter.
The rudder bucks but holds true to sou’-southeast and home.
She rises on the nearside swell and swoops down the backside of
Waves stirred and provoked to 20 feet by a restless air.
She’s caught a scent of
Something dark and thrilling in the lowering clouds ahead,
And I either ride her or die.