Mind splits the surface of lake –
it's calm, the bow is looming.
Waves and ripples swim away
and the mind is followed by a wake.
Wind is gone and rocks are hiding
somewhere a mere owl is crying
The shore is far,
but no harm done –
it's only a fetch away.
But no matter where one tries to go
the shoreline creeps closer,
closer and closer
and the sandcastle made yesterday
can almost be seen –
no use in turning around
for one can't escape the land ahoy.
In here, can't you become
dependent on the boundless,
flee from the scent of the reed
too damp? Why must it be?
Ah, now I can finally see it:
the little channel, the fairway to sea.
One must avoid the buoys
but when you look back,
the life cries of elation
– though it may daunt inside.
Sandy levees
are licking the edges
but the way is forward
for else you can't arrive.
For the core craves for open sea
away from the port, away from the bay
But there are storms in the sea
and surprise banks that no one remembers
even if they had been there.
The boat squeezes through the mouth –
thankfully it's still intact.
Well, there it is now:
the thing I hoped for, the thing I was for –
sure, it's beautiful, but it's so vast
and I'd actually rather be
watching it on a hot coast
than a rickety jollyboat...
And already the first wave
tries to roll me upside down
Alga clings to my arm
though it can be detached,
and no one can tell from my face
how eerie the sea is
so maybe I'll just move on
though I barely know how to row...
By a bight one may rest.
Behind are the grey foamheads,
dreadful and dire –
but they have honed
the rocks round
and pellucid sand covers toes.
Gone are the nightly terrors
and remaining the knowledge
that they exist –
you must not forget but
no need to remember
because it's only a fetch away.
