The Sea Defines Me

I went to sea in a tiny boat and there
got my sense of direction. On land I was adrift
my compass broken it spun round and round.
But the sea has a way of defining people.
Salt water runs through us like so much blood.
We sweat and the ocean’s what seeps from our pores.


Standing on the shore, the grand Pacific loomed
with waves like blue mountains I’d never climb.
At sea I surfed those mighty peaks
rode their crests and learned their rhythms.
Now I always pay attention
to which way weather comes.

At sea I learned to navigate
and not just plot the course
(marking latitudes and longitudes
on the chart’s yellow land with ocean’s vast blues)
but to find the way – to steer toward the lighthouse –
even when the impulse was to keep heading offshore.

A part of me rejected keeping red to the right.
It meant to return – as in – go back where I came from
and there’s a mutineer within this sailor
who ever craves the fickle flavors of deep water.
I buck any wisdom so tried and true
as the same one that claims the best sailing is downwind.

Because I like sailing against the weather.
Into the wind, I say – and it goes against prevailing wisdom
but my insurgent logic is to suspect
things that come up behind you.
When you can feel wind’s breath in your face
then you know what she’s up to.

So I bear it on the nose feel the hull of my ship
heeled hard over as I bash into those breaking seas
and clench my tiller two-handed, smiling.
And vow to always tack and jibe to face direct
whatever gale blows my way
I’ll take the ocean’s spray right on the head.

Because ... the sea defines me.