To be a lithe fishing boat,
Curvaceous, turning with the rises
Arcing brow, luscious aged wood crafted with care
dropping and lifting,
So unlike
A barge,
slow, heavy, groping the sediment and debris not yet dredged
Leaving in the tailwind a trail of oil
I want to have a brow that dips sways
I want to have a mast that catches the wind
But I have a motor and I have a mission from port to port to port.
At sighted land unburdened;
I’ll pretend that the small waves can move me too.
