Like a junkie checking connections

Or a trader watching the big board,

I find, these days, my eyes turning skywards.

 

Watching the trees I imagine the wind

Catching the jib, or filling the main sail

Like a lovers chest.

 

Words like halyard, or jibing, and phrases like,

Helm’s alee, or, beating to windward,

Are my new vocabulary.

 

My dreams are filled with that mystical place,

The sea bed, which lies below us.

My new occupation is charting a gliding course.

And I seek only the wind for guidance