Sailing (For Joseph Conrad) - Poem by Bill Cushing
I have always taken
the four a.m. watch:
those three hours before dawn when,
inhaling the moist sweetness
of a new day, we awake
and escape last night’s darkness,
quiet and primitive satisfaction.
The ocean rushing underneath,
dependent upon current hull speed,
spills a phosphorescent wake —
the only natural source of light
besides the moon.
Rolling up and down,
swaying into balance
on the balls of my feet while
cradling the warmth
of a mug’s contents.
an orange sliver appears
and grows, as the sun
finds the seam in the weld
that fixes sea to sky.
Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about Sailing (For Joseph Conrad) by Bill Cushing
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You