When we reached land, by chance, I met a sweet
Lighthouse keeper once of my ken. He looked
At my depleted crew, brought low, defeat
Etched in us, seagull-thin. Wordless, he cooked
Enticing morsels, steeped in rich cumin,
Savoury stews; until at last we seemed
Less dire flotsam landward-bound, more human.
Salt still burned deep in throats, we could still
Hear the ocean’s rock-fated, siren call;
So bench he built, with mast, to bear the chill
Of days cast low by dread horizon’s pall.
When cool waters beckon, lashed to that mast
We bide our landtime, ‘til drowntime has passed.