To Sea Again

Last night I dreamed we went to sea again.
Our upstairs bedroom creaked and rocked in gale-
force winds. The sheets (you know that sailor-men
call rigging sheets?) spread wide, storm-driven sails
across a universe of rain and sleep.
White water crashed against the bows, the rise
of thick blue blankets over feet, the steep
swell of billows against lidded eyes.

Toward dawn, the wind died down. A gentle draft
sent feathers from our pillows drifting round
the wooden planking of our bedroom-raft.
The window murmured with the dying sound
of storms and waves and shipwreck; I
woke cradled in a cloudless sky.

Collection available! Knocking from Inside