An Ill Conceived Venture: Poem 2 of 3
03/24
I have made a grave navigational error
And steered my ship to a sandbar
While I waved my cap and shouted backwards from the helm
Whistling to the shore I just departed
Sailing blind at every turning of the wind was sure to end this way
But my sails were taut and pulling, so blindly off I went
I’ve been too sure of my bearing
And that hers seemed unfixed and waiting
I mourned the day our courses diverged
But now I see she’s surely moving
While I‘ve wrecked myself upon this rocky spit
Watching every passing breeze shred my unyielding sails
I see things clearer than I did before
Even through dewy lashes and a dented spyglass
That she has not ceased rowing onward
Against the very wind that brought me to this moor
How I admire the steady rhythm of her pulling
And how I wish she’d only stop a moment
It’s true her boat could never tow this mainsail
But now I look around me and see my dismal state
Tattered sails and tangled rigging
Rotting boards and splintered railings
If ever I am driven from this sandbar
This ornamental galleon will almost assuredly nose under
Yesterday I looked away to take a bearing
And I saw beyond my taffrail for the first time in a while
There was nothing to be seen
Only imagined promise somewhere beyond the horizon
If somehow I can hold this ship together
I’ll die having met my unknown fortune there
Or I could set to swimming
Hard away from the wreck I’ve coaxed this far
The galleon which I proudly drove
And leave behind my vain prancing to and fro
See how steady she rows
Eyes set firm over her horizon on a promise she absolutely knows
The gulf is wide but not yet too vast
I could swim to her in time
And pray with all my heart and soul
That a bench remains on her humble skiff
Now I’ve made myself ready to leap from the rail
I’ll surely drown if she doesn’t take me aboard
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