Lurching Harbor

Black water slaps

against the

hull

again. Lantern swinging out

across the squall. No soft landing at the

jetty line, I pull the throttle till the timbers whine.

Seven on the counter,

break the swell in two,

Reef to the starboard,

nothing passing through.

Iron on the rudder,

knuckles turning stone, Every crooked wave is biting at the bone.

Cut through the wake,

cut through the spray,

We don't veer when the beacon turns grey.

Hold firm on the course,

hold firm on the wire.

Hold fast to the iron,

never pulled down!

(never pulled down!) Cold surge rising through the harbor ground!

(break through the gale!)

Seven steps forward in the roaring brine,

We steer true past the warning sign!

Deep in the narrows,

silent as a wreck,

Salt crust gathering along the deck.

They wait for the keel to splinter on the stone,

I read the dark channels like a map of my own.

No distress flares, no signal fired,

Patience built on iron,

steel-wired.

Through the mouth of the bay,

breaking the ring, We ride out the fury that the rip tides

bring. Hold the wheel,

never pulled down! Seven steps out to the open sound!