At Sea
Deep within the golden hue of varnished cockpit,
we sat, stood, and knelt
for twenty four days,
supported by the salt of the deep sapphire Pacific.
The bright white billowy sails
became the wings of angels,
as we took the leap,
faith our bridge,
from doldrums to trade winds,
as we pushed downhill to the other hemisphere,
and christened ourselves
authentic shellbacks,
with a toast of sparkling soda,
and our last bag of m and m's.
The cathedral spikes of mountainous Nuku Hiva came upon us,
our boat a spaceship, the Marquesas another planet,
proving our doubted navigation
correct as the morning sun,
and the new world became real,
where locals beckoned us to a pig barbecue,
our first day at anchor,
a smiling lot,
not knowing the corporeal landscape we had left behind.
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