The white, white sail lolls lazily back and forth; there’s not one blown breath of wind from the gods in the sky. The sound of oily feathers flapping produce a black bird gracefully skimming the ocean’s surface, touching tips of wings to water which creates ever-widening ringlets. We in the boat watch while we ghost by a sleeping seal with whiskers just above the surface of a mirror of clouds. There he rests until our shadow falls on him, he wakes and looks at us with doglike eyes, a snuffle sound, then he dives. We rest, our bruises healing in this gentle morning calm; the boat rising over smooth long swells left from a three-day storm. We enter a safe harbor of an island left alone, now summer is gone. We dive into cool waters wearing only skin, it passes by leaving minute bubbles where little hairs capture air. Ashore pebbles from the beach stick to our bare feet, and in a field once mowed, my love picks a buttercup to hold under my chin; we laugh not remembering what it stands for. Lingering in the air is sweetness, rottenness, life mixed in a forgotten orchard still living. We rest till rested, then leave. The waves hiss under our hull. Far away from all the shores, only blues of sea and sky, the air a salty mix, our souls find peace. With feathers like a fish’s scales, colorful and bright, a weary traveler in the night finds refuge on the boat.