Towards the Horizon
When the tide was high
I loved to hang over the edge.
Rising and falling.
The gap widening then closing.
No longer visible to shore.
I'd lean over.
The wind thumping me in the chest.
My lips peeled in joy.
Well conditioned hair.
My fingers lost in wave after wave.
The sails filled in a gust.
My fingers folded between the current.
I a stow away.
Finding my way to the helm.
My hand lost in a sea of hair.
Sailing towards the horizon
|