Sailing

Tempest spray,
worn sails,
genoa forgotten,
and my love lost.

But the sea remembers,
gently,
that boastful act.

With Irons fore,
aft are the sins of youth,
terror felt in failure,
as the jib gave way.

Uncontrolled jibe,
spinning,
the boat knows its way.

Uncontrolled,
bailing,
the boat will go to rest.

Somewhere kept for courage,
in cold vaults,
manifold dreams.