You never forget the smell
The dank, damask musks,
The secret acrid vinegars
The flower scented hair
That rests on your chest
Snoring gently, twitching occasionally,
Muttering lists of nothings
As the boat rocks around you,
Eastward bound to Jerusalem.
Ah, the freedom of the sea,
Rolling, never still, never silent,
An unquiet of redemption and destruction,
As you skate along the surface
Sails full, ropes taught,
Sun blasting your fragile skin
As you squint into the white horizon
Endless journeys across water
Eastward bound to Jerusalem.
So here I lay, flailed, failed, prostrate,
On a mattress of moss, with a blanket of leaves,
Penitent, pining, prickled, poked,
Searching for silence
An ultimate peace
Demanding a vision of ultimate hope
Yet I dream of the time
And the girl and the sea
Eastward bound to Jerusalem.
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