I press gold coin in cold, moist palm

“Passage for one”

The boatsman eyes me

Asks

“Are you a sailor?”

“Yes,” I answer

“And what do you last remember of the sea?” he asks

“Bracing cold,” says I

“A warm embrace

“Lightness

“Being

“Not being

“Peace”

“And now you leave the sea - what destination?” he plies

“To yonder shore”

“Welcome aboard,” says Charon,

“Trim in those sheets

“I’ll take the tiller”

And we make way for our

Port of call

By Mike Turner

From: United States

Website: http://Www.miketurnersongwriter.com

Twitter: SchoonerSkipper

Facebook URL: Http://facebook.com/miketurnersongwriter