Ivy grew on the oars.
Twisting water-soaked wood to visual creaks and groans,
It's poor gnarls vital in my chest.
Prone upon a strange vessel, wood sponged and tracked by a thousand repeating feet,
Each oars man glittered by fishes scales, watered eyes.
The water might part and swell, but soundless,
Incarnadine beneath an all but swallowed sun.
Many a frosted wave beats here, we the passengers of an unmoved vessel
N'er even rocked, but sucked backwards.
Trodden planks are not retraced, scaled men row for the sky,
'What ship is this?' I send a sigh, frosted and formed.
Many days or moments passed my corner eye,
While an endless all but swallowed sun roles round the line
And ceaseless waves slide through the mind.