One of the big boats
is moving, about to disappear,
existing not much longer at
the aged horizon.
You cannot see from here,
but must imagine there is a
whirling radar, observing,
set atop her steel wheelhouse tower.
On his solitary round,
a deck-hand will be making certain
every ore-hatch is battened down,
lest the wind come up.
I am sure, witness to a vague shape,
this is that certain thousand-footer,
with all its bells and whistles.
The one.
Amazing, isn’t it?
how something majestic
could float away so fast?
I reach out, but
one more distracted turn of my head
and the whole of it will have
passed.
Robert On The Air 