Oh these blind trajectories,
these pure set conditions,
initial, merry, just so wandered –
a shell thus thrown, a plunged
albatross beak, a sheared
stab of ice, a moon’s pull
and a breath elastic –
All these and a calculus,
as crest to valley lumbers
in its way – sine to sine –
chopped though ever free
and unlapped after.
Yes, that is how to build a rogue,
how to find our love – our love
stacked crest to crest –
to lurch up, snag a gilded gannet,
round about a hunk of sun
and fist on some stiff unwary hull –
cast our cargoes upon the sea.
Image: Matt Hardy on Unsplash
Sweet and Bitter Greens 
Beautiful
Thank you very much for the read and comment.
D