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By jwb71913 Date: 2003 Feb 26 Comment on this Work [[2003.02.26.14.34.19306]] |
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I hear the water as it parts for the prow The wind slips quietly through the sail The tiller tugs at my hand like a child at a ball game. You laugh, and the music of your laughter fills The great expanse of green and blue, echoing off the Cabin door and resonating through the red dacron fabric Your hair bounces in the breeze and changes colors Reflecting the water, the sail, the sky and the sun While the beads of sweat form on your lips as you crank the winch My heart flies as if tied to the spinnaker, the glass of red goes Ignored as we race along on the teeth of the wind and stare at the horizon. Transfixed by a reference ever changing. I remember a saying I saw once, a brief reference To the futility of regret, and our powerlessness over fate And destiny. Sails down at sunset, anchored in bon secour, we kiss. "We cannot shape the wind, we can only adjust the sails" |