On cold nights like tonight,
I bury myself into my covers.
The odd hours of the midnight wakers
keep the halls lit with noise.
Their words hit the metal walls with a
loud ping,
blurring as they slide down to the
floor.
The letters litter the speckled deck
like dust
and settle in the corners
until morning labor sweeps them clean.
I didn’t see this as home
until the anchor gave way some years
ago.
I once knew sand under feet but now the
sea has me.
Oh what a blessing.
To wake every morn to her smile,
to watch her lap the side of our
vessel,
to watch her froth as we demand our
passage through,
to feel the strength of resting gently
on her shoulders.
Dare take for granted the sea, our home.
Dare take for granted the sea, our home.
