On the sailing ship
The bats, the boat, the ship
they all lifted up this dream
to the freedom of the seas,
the notes you hear are from that music
sound to come across the ocean:
listen to that, that idea lies in the future.
I am only a bird in the sky
and fly, the sea is all around us.
That hole deep blue magma is everything,
those never ending waves
are the background to this canvas.
There is a young woman on the deck
she's wearing a notorious dark green dress
but far away in the distance
perhaps she's someone I know,
thus she's begun to travel
she holds a long flight feather in one hand
and moultly tries to read, as she tried to write,
to read what she could write
in that sunny day;
other passengers come around and talk,
they all tell their stories and she listens, attentive;
she's been perhaps standing there all afternoon,
and the white sound you hear is wind
a blow up that wildly agitates from the open book
a white flower of pages sitting in her lap
I am only a bird in the high deep sky
and cannot understand all the talking
I do aircraft, sail and periscope
I'm a piece of wish racing for those news.
