When the land of day is burning
and I’m cornered by the flames, choking
on the smoke of excess obligations,

I flee to the ocean’s edge and fling
myself upon the mattress-raft, unmoor
myself from the hard continent

set the sheets and trim the angle
of the pillows, lift anchor, free myself
to float, let helm spin where it will.

It does not matter whether I cross
from the wave of wakefulness to sleep,
only that I loosen my grip upon

the wheel, let the sail of my mind
swing free until she fills with dreams
again, until I’ve found the sextant

and the compass, stood again upon
the deck, sighted a star, the dog
a porpoise drifting near the hull.

Laura M Kaminski
12 01 2014
in response to/inspired by Dave Bonta’s “Sailor’s Wife” and Luisa A. Igloria’s “Harbor” on Via Negativa

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