Life of the Seafarer

The sense of falling,
Imminent.
The rolling and tossing,
constant.

Leaning over the wooden edge, my toes brushing the deck,
And the taste of salt in my mouth, I contemplate death
And life as one who always searches for the shore.
Yet when upon it I have to remember
What it is like to walk with something
Firm and steady beneath my feet.
And with lurching steps I am glad
To return to the ship. The unknown I know.

Somehow, long ago, it became
Habit to expect the world to
Pitch and hurl beneath my feet.

Each of us sleeps alone tonight.
It is my turn to keep watch in the crows nest
And as I look out to black waters and brighter sky
I have the sense of falling again.
I sense if I could only leap far enough
I could walk from star to star to star
And swim to the moon.

Instead, with resolution, I run my hand
Along the wood, worn smooth from
Many grasping hands, other sailors,
Who feared they might jump into that inky sky
If they took one moment to let go.
With less fear of falling to the water
And more fear of reaching whatever star
That struck their eye.

When the sun rises, the horizon burns red
And I know a storm will come.
Unanchored, exposed with only will and courage
We will survive. Or not. And I yearn to reach
The shores once again. Maybe this time, I could
Sleep and walk with the earth beneath me
and not be startled at its stillness.
Maybe this one time, I might trust the dirt beneath me
And give up what I have known.
But first I must make it through this storm.