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On the bay the wind is scurrying
along its flock of waves,
with white crests honey combed, 
to flip over their edges,
on blue foreheads.

The bow of the yacht slices 
through the waves driven by the wind
in the sails, rattling the rigging, 
heeling the boat over,
relenting to force of wind,
tricking the wind to drive the yacht
forward wind into the wind.

On the bay the currents play with the tides.
The ferries ply their routes, 
hurrying and streaming,
with passengers waving to passersby 
for no good reason, for no one asks them why.
The ferries toot their horns to 
sloops, ships, skiffs, tugs, tinnies, dinghies and row boats,
hoping they will get out of their way soon.

Dolphins, twist, glide and turn, riding the bow currents.
They pop up to say: "Gidday!", "How's it Going!" 
Surfacing for a one-eyed glace up at
the bow-riders standing up front like a figurehead.
Gulls dip and squabble overhead, as terns dive for food,
Cormorants pop to the surface looking around,
before diving back down,
with syrupy smooth surge below.
Pelicans cruise by like flying boats, with folded bills.

For whatever we lose from ourselves on the land,
we'll find it again out there on the wide blue sea,
where life began, and it still sustains us.
For Planet Water is indeed our true home 
where life began in water. 
It's our matter and matrix, 
mother and medium.
Truly our everlasting living sustainer.

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