To sail is necessary, to live is not ~ Plutarch

After an afternoon spent Under a spell, a performance Of rain, he walks out into The evening, grass heavy, And feet sinking into casks Of wet clay, to stand under An oak that is still weeping.

How to let lose that self With its low murmur as if It were a radio dial stuck On a station of disaster only Reporting thoughts that are Of storms, streets turning into Lagoons, a lone shirtless man Poling a raft of driftwood, Rumors of war, of separation, And that backward gaze cast out Of trains pulling out from sidings, And enter a true clearing in The weather of his heart?

As if to encourage himself Of such a foolish endeavor He softly chants to himself The motto of a Roman sailor: “Navigare et necesse, Vivere non est necesse.”