Ours is a near sunken ship, fighting the waves which eclipse and threaten our tiny blip on radar.
Insofar, we haven’t tipped, had buoyancy ripped down like hulls in a hurricane.
Certain devils accompany (seasickness, one’s named) barrels of money and toil painted on the masts coiling under winds.
our morale is chipped but never does dripping water drown, knocked off a fixed path to lovely towns across the ocean.
The shorelines in focus
mend my worldview of seas, an Atlantis in me
rising to counter the certainty of storms.