sailing

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.

©Hemmingplay 2016

Voyage

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