we live in a house

built a hundred years ago or more

in a small village spread below mountains of rock and ice

under impossibly blue sky and ivory clouds

people come to paint and photograph

to walk the trails or struggle to the summits

while i remain below to muse and dream

of the white gulls cries

the smell of the spray as the bow

of the long gray ship plunges toward her destination

the deck a wild thing beneath my feet

the quiet hours of the topside midwatch

alone with the sea wind and stars

whales blowing in the night

the moon rising

a magic lantern casting her light

directly at me a shining path across the moving sea

deep gray fog bound days

lost in the thick mist

the ship’s horn mournfully blowing

we are here

we are here

where are you?

transiting the harbor into the open sea

the ship beginning her never ending dance

welcoming me to unseen lands

unknown worlds

these things are with me still

Copyright Michael Douglas Scott