Off Starboard

Horizon is illusory. White sails appear across the morning watch, are lost at noon, and sighted once again at vespers when the antiphon is sung. Beneath them at the rail another sailor over there may share the vision, half of fantasy that I exist and half in brotherhood of faith in mythic splendor of mirage. and there am I when sails and sky reflect the blooded sun as I linger on the deck, yet blest, my restive fingers touch the talisman around my neck while he in supplication to a headless God beneath the little guillotine suspended on his chest, would be content to marvel that a lordly mendicant like mine could stretch his body on a yoke of wood and die like that. ~