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 Against the elements our captain surges. White caps turned to cooling soup. Not a soul in sight and I realize, it could all stop right here and sink. Or go on playfully for another score or so. Not knowing what we'll bring up from the deep, we pull fifty fathoms to our trap from which this time all have escaped, Except a rainbow of six starfish. Clinging steadfast for their elevator ride to the sunlit upper worlds. Then tossed back and gracefully floating to their former home. They smile gainfully acknowledging your presence. Not knowing the worlds you bring or how your home could change theirs. In passing, they nod maybe, or smile, maybe not. There's enough of everything for all here - Alaska. This one has character she says to him envisioning the last place. Times are ebbing - don't waste that wood. The government office brings order, but maybe more - a sense of security. In an emergency, they dial 911 and a helicopter can come. Oh Loana Missing pieces from a harsh voyage through the ocean. Seaworthy is the word for this. Everything you need right here. And more. Shrimp traps to catch a cocktail. Watch your radar And the depth finder When the fog rolls in They're your eyes. You wonder how Mariners of old Survived rocks jutting all around And the water ever cold And this, the warm season. Take your pick The delicate instrument plays the song As important as the mainsail To keep us going. Through this fog you can't see a mile. Or many before us before we meet the seaplane. The song I've heard like an old friend here to hold my hand. A nice plastic cover - like new condition I heard it once with the weather. Bringing tidings of clouds and rain. Now it's silent, as its words come true. Never beckoning a reminder of what we know could be worse. Anybody out there? Never under foot always busy knowing the rules of the sea. And our boat's quality. Knows the captain's moods And when to point out some advice. No formal training but must know all to handle the boat by herself. In these northern latitudes the magnetic signal is weak. The compass can spin without reason. On a deserted cove tallus strewn to the waterline. We stop at the gold mine Our moorage the same as someone during the rush. Forgotten equiptment and only signs of digging, the shaft dynamited closed. A house with a weight bench, a diversion from the day to day for someone who once toiled along the way hoping for the golden payoff that never came, or maybe it did. My very close friend Has now taken the pistol and rifle, disappeared behind one of many of these bluffs. Which one I don't know. And now I am struck with the fear of a bear - standing here with Deborah. Let's get back to the boat. I think of what I would do. Run or climb or swim. Finally, back at the boat, I drop the subject and think of coffee. I saw the glacier from the plane The pilot pointed it out. All blue ice Between the peaks Scattered with fragments of what was once a cliff wall. They say it might be receding. A good place to dry clothes. The noise so loud Our captain shields his ears. This tape deck's jinxed, what, that CD stinks Let me What did you say? Shut the door to the Engine room. Remnants of an ancient settlement - a wall, it could have just settled there by accident but looks suspiciously man-made - then opposite across the inlet - an iron hook in the rock. Did they string nets across here? We are lucky - 3 koho - did they fight. They're silver. Let's get out of here before we get stranded. Check the cycles in the book. Cross currents in the inlet -- turn smooth water to rippling. Relaxing In a sailboat on an inland sea Water like a mirror. Sun shining through rainbows Hard to believe it's real. But I'm here with you Like the whales first breath Take in the sight you see Fish of all colors below us I can't think of a thing I'd rather do Than relaxing with you. Little criminals behind the wheel take you to their brother's restaurant. I was ill prepared for the food that was the same. Taxicab Scam After midnight Under the lites at the dock. The stork knows that fish will come. Waiting patentily and then stretching to the utmost, plucks a fish from the water somehow, without falling over. The churning of the skies, why is what I ask. The turning of the tide, which direction is next, this one not the last. Even the amber Looks the same. The turning of the tide Which direction I lead Like the flowing rivers, or the just fallen rain. The churning of the sky mysteries washed away The turning of the tide, To the start of the next hoped for peaceful day. |
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