11 April 2017

The wind pushed sideways
the skiff, like a fish,
helpless,
atop the water.

Whitecaps serrated
the waves’ edges,
cutting into the fog,
loaf-thick.

The lighthouse looked
onto the sea
blinded by sleet.
Insight roiled the depths.

The shore was a mumble
of pebbles
against the voluble
ocean.

It appeared the frigate bird
flew still,
freighted, as it was,
with headwinds.

At the horizon,
a cloud caravan
inched across
the desert sea.

Sunlight lit white sails
of a school of boats;
a flock of gulls
shot to flight!

From a cruise ship cloud
cloud ropes were tossed
toward a cloud pier,
anchor secured.

Then the whole of the west
turned crimson.
The sea turned to wine:
Miracle!

Rose a cloud come dawn,
a quiet white rocket
up from the sea:
Spirit Fish.

Philip Kuepper
(23 March 2017)