It’s a tall sailing-ship on the ocean,
Still, anchored, waiting – not to be broken –
Or smashed on rocks – run aground.
A grey shape, visible in the fog – no sound.
Or, imaginably, if I listen closely – beyond the hush –
Seawater claps the vessel’s hull and waves swoosh on the shore.
Sensible sea captain, dutiful crew, waits – no rush…
The sun is sinking, a gull calls, and the reef makes no score.
Explorers or pirates? We’ll see…
I write in my log book – a note to me –
“Tomorrow – build lighthouse for sea dogs.”
But in the morning there is no sea, no ship, and no fog.