Chugging away, we rode out on the back of the sea,

surrendering our last fixed point

to the Gulf Stream’s glassy, seamless background.

Two hours later we were there,

a nowhere underflown with fish

exciting the first mate - Hammerheads,

and skittish Bonita.

So this is vacation

I thought to myself,

having gotten away from it all

except a boat,

four friends, two hired strangers.

That night I rode swells

in the silent undulation of my bed,

relieved, but still at sea.