15 April 2017
He slept, like the dead,
deep in the hold. The bold
sea roiled round the hull.
The crossing had been a nightmare,
the frigate nailed to the sea
by the storm screaming
in a chorus of rage.
Ever nearer shore,
he shed, measure by measure,
the depths. The shroud of darkness
slipped away. The frigate
nosing the shore wakened him,
the shore of light,
toward which he rose.
Philip Kuepper
(14 April 2017)
