Wine-Dark Sea

The green and ragged Turkish coast, stretching
And unfolding, it passes by.
Legs dangling off the bowsprit,
I watch intermittently the sea, the shore.

The sun is falling behind an islet,
But the air remains close all about me—
Touching face, hair—neither warm nor cool.
The wind pulls it along

Past me, over all the ship, past passenger and crew,
And captain in his khakis and navy polo shirt,
His brown face wrinkled in a permanent smile.
The sail remains lashed, the motor carries

The ship. The deep keel cuts through the waves.
If wish were reality, the sail would soar
Up the mast, ascending to heaven
Like the dome of the Haghia Sofia.

Nestled in the bowsprit, legs dangling down
Hovering over the surface of the waters,
Chin resting on hands folded on thin metal
Railing, I sit. The spray washes my bare feet.