fallen asleep at the helm, i lapsed at my entries
just as the waves lapped at my brow.
similar to the fog occupying time between lucidity and sleep,
where one squints to discern the appendages of a dream
from the resonant hues of dry land.
i was asleep at the helm, as i observed from the crow's nest,
the ship that i am headed north, into the winter.
breaking ice now with my brow.
the hull taught and enduring,
balanced equally between tempered strength and breach.
I sleep softly on deck, calmed by the frictions of motion
as the fragments of the earth travel around me.
soft shapes emerge from the fog and warm my sleeping ears.
the shapes are comforting, and intriguing.
they move about me as amoebic organisms would,
gentle but persisting, until I am no longer asleep.
listening now, the fog has thinned.
the resonance is clear, as i realize what i hear.
I am asleep, I am vessel, I am observing from above.
