I am too long
Outside a boat,
Too long away from the
Tip and shimmy
Of a dinghy hull,
The joyous swoop
Of a hull under sail,

Too long since my
Hand rested upon
A tiller,
Felt those five essentials
Work in balance to
Place no load
Nor need a weather helm,

Too long away from that
Which brooks no
Office politics,
No lovers tiff
Nor household chore,
Just pleased to carry me
By wind away from shore

But soon and soon
No matter the weather,
Be it storm or calm,
Sun or snow or rain,
Even frozen lake won't
Stymie my day,
For I shall sail,

And when that wood
Which bears me
Is a diamond coffin,
And life has left my body,
Be ye certain that somewhere,
God willing,
My soul is sailing still

The small dinghy drifts
on the surface of the sea
its grayed gunnels, hull
and vacant crossbars
betray its age
but its persistent float
speaks its worth.

Without a bold goal
its life at the mercy of currents and winds
it drifts
but still it floats.

It would be easy to feel pity
for this tiny rudderless vessel
to condemn it to the depths
for its aimless oblivious
drift.

But this modest creation
a dinky dinghy
still floats
rises, falls, bobs,
and wobbles
a survivor of sojourns
she remains

a mocking
clocking
launch
of hope.