Breath.
The open ocean
and wave-spray white.
Every vessel filled
and beating red.

The bleeding sea
trading warmth for wind
to mix the shade
and sunlight
encapsulated.

The green on the surface
is alive
and sifting into shadow
where bones feed the
greater beings sleeping there.

We sail on,
the sun-soaked horizon,
a promise of the days to come
in the golden-orange strip
cast from black.

We sail on,
the beast beneath us wooden,
the white cloth wings
to catch the clouds.

Over the green, the deep
We sail on.
Silver shimmers of fish
along side,
the roughness of barnacle
along side,
and all our long-shot gazes
falling overboard and sinking.

Thirst.
The open ocean
and wave-spray white.
Every vessel filled
and beating red.

Through eyelids,
the sun.
Over brine
our path marked in ripples
fading

Stars making maps
in an ash-pit sky-scape,
unseen for the fog,
thick in drapes
hanging.

This vastness is inherent.
Here, the liquid vistas,
our calling,
is making us
steam.
Evaporation,
our Queen.