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
The Ace Hotel Notebook 