Sailors at bay in the harbor today,
but later we’ll trek deeper waters.
To pause is such grace,
but our anchors will raise,
and the currents will tug us out farther.
But if I were a river, if I were a lake,
if I were a pond, well, perhaps I would make
a habitat that I could solely contain,
no need for control; just to self-sustain.
But the maritime bounties
Astound me each day.
The ocean is potent,
I’m obliged to stay.
A glacier which glides at a gradual pace,
carves cirques and moraines
and abandons all haste.
If I were a glacier,
of rock and of ice,
my stillness I’d savor,
how it would suffice.
But the maritime rhythms will always remain.
No need for division, I know my terrain.
If I were a channel, a canal or a strait,
They’d travel my waters,
they’d pass through my gates.
But the maritime boundaries
wrap ’round me the same,
the ocean’s my docent,
my guide…my domain.
So I’ll bow at my bow
with each nod and each turn.
I’ll stay strict and firm
at the rear of my stern.
For I am of ocean
which I cannot feign.
To change my devotion
would go against grain.