Hatteras

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.