If I had seven hours at sea
The water moving, slow and deep
Deeply, slowly, a body amassed
Poseidon’s might, his cold blue hands-
I would spend them locked away
Rocking, rocked by rolling waves
Anointed in a cabin berth
Akin a cave, unknown, submersed
In tides that slide beneath
Tides which lift, awake, renew
ill-used muscle, limb, sinew.
Yet beyond, beyond goes the ocean’s touch
permeating, mutating, stirring blood
raising white flags high: full-mast
atop burning poles of present and past.
whoever dares the climb will find
pinned there, quivering heart and mind
bare-chested in the salted breeze
an offering, a sacrificial plea;
to be tamed and claimed
and thus set free
by Poseidon’s disciples
in seven hours at sea.