One Craft

Amidst the liquid stillness deep below,
It calculates and dictates the detail,
To set the course precise by compass nail;
The rudder of the ship predicts the flow.

But sensing now the possible of fail,
A crack of wind, a rise of vagrant swell,
The falling air, the clang of ocean bell,
The rudder feels the speed and sees the sail

Arching wide to elevate the shell
And lift it to the chaos storm of sky,
Aching with a desperate need to fly,
To yank the steady rudder from its well.

The rudder shakes and trembles at the speed
As the sail exalts the miracle she’s freed.

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