inappropriate emails formed from formica and wood and eternities of water

the fresh water pump
leaks. when i moved
on board, the small
closet space
in my sleeping berth
was inches full of
water.

the impact with an
uncharted rock, that shook
boat, yes, but also
bones, soul,
the impact
jostled and loosened
40 year old fiberglass.
it split the 4
foot tall rudder.
it cracked the oil
pan of Perkins
diesel engine.
oil still stains
the wooden floor
like blood. i cover
it with carpet and
think, quietly, with slight
shudder (like a rock-
struck engine), on
plans to sand
wood floors,
remove from them
the evidence of their injury.

but there is no
hole in this hull
and there is no
real, true, active
incursion of sea
water, fecund,
into this vessel.
outside and above,
the clouds are jolly
and rotund.
they chuckle and
chortle and we
eager earnest humans
take a soaking.
all this water up
on my deck,
all this water up on
my mind. all this
water is all i hear.
in bed at night,
shelved snug
in the darkened berth,
my mind conjures
leaks. is this blood,
leaking from my indistractable
heart?
is the freshwater pump
exhausted, a sigh
and then
a spring?
is the fiberglass no longer
willing to hold on, no
longer interested in acting
as barrier to this great womb
of water?

quieting my sinking
mind, a muscle
of wonder and terror,
i slip beneath
sleep’s waves.
there are whales out
there, silently sliding
inches from my water’d
body. they peel
back the rippled skin
of water, fill their
bladders with oxygen
of a different density,
and glide back down
to their home,
holding their
breath.

Published by Zak

an intertidal island in an ocean of impermanence.

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