This Vessel in which I Sail
Trapped in this fragile vessel with the pandemic
a passenger waiting to board, I drift from port to port,
looking for a haven, safe, to have and to hold me.
No harbour will let me dock. “No room at this inn,”
they say. “No haven here.” They wave me away.
Now I have no destination. Aimless, I float and every
where I go the message is: “No vacancy: no room at all.”
Unwanted, abandoned, I wander with wind and waves,
my only friends seals, porpoises, and whales.
I walk the whale road, leaving a frail, white wake behind.
This vessel has become a gulag now, a prison
camp where I exist just to survive. Each hour of each day
endless, boundless, like this shadowy, haunted sea.
Today there is no motion, no goal. What is there to achieve
but survival? Each day’s journey is sufficient unto itself.
2 thoughts on “This Vessel in Which I Sail”
It is a bit. I guess the pandemic plus my enforced lack of mobility have turned the world a little bit black. Still, I’ll post a brighter one tomorrow. I promise!