With a guttural cough the sails clear
their throats billowing the exhaled
salty spray of the sea. She leans like
a full thigh maiden lusty and ripe
begging for the thrust of the wind.
The helm is tight heeled over
whispering through the azure sea.
Freedom calls to the shrouds,
whistling past the lanyard.
There is magic in the air, sparkling
with the diamonds of dreams cast upon
the winds of tomorrow a bet against
the far salty horizon. I am alone
with the rolling waves and we are one.
©2012, Donald Harbour