A Calm Crossing

Hull-down in cargo bound for Oban
under leaden sails the barque sits
stuck from stem to truck,
siamese'd to the sea by its reflection.

Sandalwood and cinnamon scented decks
remember other nights,
balmy and firefly-lit,
under palms, with sway-hipped girls
harmonising to the rhythms of a silver-veined sea.

We seesaw on a mile-long swell.
Loose blocks gently 'clock-clock' together,
talking like tired tom-toms;
the sun is still in our skins.

Booms mirrored in the sea sip
wineglass arcs spread
from port and starboard lanterns.
The masts describe slow circles
for fireflies to chase their peaks.

At the clang of the dogwatch bell
we let the fireflies fade-back into mere stars.

Now woken to a silk web thrown
by the winking loom of a dipping light,
we search the last miles

for the line between black and black
to slice the night apart.
It will surprise the corner of an eye:

a sudden blush
spreading down the ocean
from a skyline ridge
crowned with fanned embers,
re-igniting forgotten glens.