Drawing our old anchor,rusty red from riverbed,
Posting indefinite postcards in courtyards and
Setting sail off into the habitual horizons,
Where that true blue hue sky lays askew
Touches that raindrop mountaintop,that green sea,
Unforeseen,cuts the sunrise like a guillotine,
We venture further,where there,then any eye could see.
We fall off the edges of our little perfect world
As we fell to the floor of seashore bent back,
An attack from laughing aloud to ourselves proud,
There is no real worry or hurry out on these waters,
There are no real appeal of troubles out here
In this notion of ocean .

-Jamie F. Nugent