A Boat and its Seamen

On a boat barely visible on the horizon,

six men search for the other side of the sea.

With eyes barely open, their beards thick with salt,

they scrape the deck free of salt;

hands grimy, slow, and rhythmic.

On a boat barely visible on the horizon,

six men peer into the shoreless sea.

They see their wish awash with ripples.

The end of the sea is near,

the relief of the shore sure to arrive.

On a boat barely visible on the horizon,

six men stretch their limbs under moonlight.

With stiff wrists, crunching fingers, eyes sealed shut:

they pull and snap joints back into place. 

The boat bobs, heading to the edge.

On a boat barely visible on the horizon,

six men search the sky for a drink, salt deep in their throats.

The sea fills with bloated bodies; fish drown in the salty sea.

The men see the bodies bubbling

as if there is water underneath.

On a boat barely visible on the horizon,

five men sweep their friend into the sea.

He was tightening the sail, rope in hand,

standing still as the surface of the sea.

His body falls apart, nothing but salt within.

On a boat barely visible on the horizon,

two men make way through the salty sludge.

The days pass as slowly as their boat moves.

They throw everything overboard,

the boat creaks as they do.

On a boat barely visible on the horizon,

two men seek salt beds to rest on.

The bloated fish are no more,

their scales mixing with salt shining under the noon sun.

A mocking display.

On a boat barely visible on the horizon,

one man sits still, a friendly salt mound beside him.

The boat leans left, facing the sky.

When the rain falls, he draws his last breath:

melting away to join his crew.