Through sting spinning slit mist sharpened water,
I spied the rage ragged cliff of Lazo.
Spitting thunder cloaks her dazzled temper,
Thrusts her foaming breast hard; into thick eyes
Looming out of and into that grey world.
Donning her crusty coat I hear her voice
Unfurl singing some sweet old tongue chanty,
For I have lost my way! She creeps to me!
Spindrift spits and pastes the scurried surface
Of my brain, and a wet face fog sets down.
Bravely, she plunders over green-jaded
Quiet death, deep, dark, brooding hour strikes
A crack 8-tonner splys her asunder,
Tears roll down my face, I sail her under.
Published by the Poetry Institute of Canada in the anthology: Island Shores,