the world emerged,
Columbus sailed the Ocean's curve,
sailed westward and beyond
the gradient of the sky,
the sea reflected in his eyes,
the vanishing horizon his guardian and his guide.
And the broad and blue Atlantic
held tiny wooden boats,
an oceanic trinity of flimsy sails
and flimsy hopes
and oars that sliced the sea in urgency.
The quadrant and the compass
were little gods that saved
or doomed a ship and set its hopeful odds.
The ocean waves were empty pages,
the ship a blind, unguided quill,
creating history until...
the world adjusted in its sleep
and rearranged its limbs
in length and line and time.