On my ship, I set sail,
To where Musashi had failed,
In search of a spot to rest my head
Upon a foreign seabed.
As I leave the city port
I cast my eyes homeward in farewell
And catch a glimpse upon a cliff
Of a canvas on an easel.
Perched upon a little chair,
I spot a girl with paint at hand,
Who takes a pause to watch the sea
Part and mend at my hull’s command.

I crease my sailor cap and raise it high,
And wave to her as I pass by.
She returns to me a gentle stare
And dips her brush in paint with care.
My wandering eye is now affixed
Upon the glow of this fading girl
Whose eyes meet mine for brief moments
To watch my fleeting goodbye unfurl.
Who does she see, from on that cliff?
What boy will she now paint?
Will she remember how I look?
Or keep my features vague and faint?

Her cliff now sinks beneath the sea
To rise again, from under me,
As this ship goes from trough to crest,
Riding waves for seas southwest.
The waves now pull me off, adrift,
To oceans foreign, to currents stiff,
Trapped within the torrent’s pull
Where a storm awaits in full.
I wonder when she turns to the sea
Does the breeze redden the skin of her cheeks?
Does she watch the rolling clouds
Blend with the white of the crashing tide
And find herself somewhat resigned
To a deepening sadness trapped inside?
How will she remember me?
What will that painting look like when it is done?
How long will she think of the boy floating away
On a sailing ship set toward the sun?