Dark and Stormy

I suppose it is primeval
to take shelter from a storm.

Simple survival suggest that the cave
warmed by firelight
will improve your chances
of seeing another sunrise.

But what of the sailors.
Whose haven of a bolt-hole
is but a speck
on the roiling maw of an ocean.

When the sails luff
and the albatross banks away from their wake
and the gale is upon them…

how deep in the belly
must they go
to find refuge.

An oil lamp
a swinging canvas bunk
the rhythmic sliding
of the heavy wooden trunks
fore and aft… and back again.

Do they find comfort
in the murmur of sea chanty
marking time on the weather deck above.

Is there a story they tell
of their island home
where the boots wait by the door
and a light burns through the night…

and all eyes
search the horizon
for their safe return.

Huddle close ye fellow sailors.
It’s getting dark out there.