Trickle, stream,

Over the stones

Wet the path you follow

As you hit your stride,

Sway side to side and cut your name.


Rush river,

To the sea,

Whirl the stones around

As you carve deeper,

Denting the landscape

Making a new place

Between surface and bed.


Bigger fish live in you now

With gaping mouths

As you reach yours

and thrash happy into sea.


The Sirens wave me off

My craft of paranoia floats away

No paddle, just my wet arm

And a hurried fear.

Sail from the rocks, needle sharp sunset

Calls of good luck from pin-toothed mouths

Damp, dappled white- green hands wave me away

The same cold clamminess touches my brow

And the space beneath my boat is deeper than I could imagine.

Nausea pales my skin to grey

My mirrored face in the waves could so easily be one who’s changed their mind

My wet arm reflects, a slender hook to pull me beneath with a laugh.

via Daily Prompt: Sail