One Night

 
The small plywood hull

hampers the furrowed  swell.

“Splosh, splosh “ the waves laugh,  

then slap the  citrus green of a pretty prow--

and rings the red buoy’s bell.



Cool salt spray in small amounts

lift and leave the slightly foamy crest

to spray and slightly spot

a slightly spotty face,

and almost wet a vest.



A breeze balloons to blow its breath

into an empty sail. It doesn’t fill the sail that much,

not one tiny little bit.

really not a breezy breeze at all,

more like a breeze’s touch.



From daze at sea to days that be,

a pirate’s sleep can last an ocean’s dance--

Then it’s time to hit the shore,

roll back the sheets and trim the mast;

to give the dream just one more glance,

before he walks the plank.