The yawl

footing slowly in the channel
with only puffs of fetid air
to take her out
she rides the outward tide
past nonplussed pelicans
perched on salty pilings
finally emerging into the the south wind
she shakes out her canvas
then stands out to the bay
where the deep blue waters
call their siren song
she heels and with a bone in her teeth
she drives over the serrated waves
of snowy-white capped swells
and with stays and halyards taut
she begins a long reach to the Gulf. . . .

2009