Embarked

We turned the boat back

to the heart of the bay,

the buoy’s staccato light

bobbing as night invited

a drama of wind that ruched

the water with millions of pins.

My daughter said, look,

we are running away

from the darkness. She spoke

to a duck, watched a fish jump

arcs in the air by a schooner called

Dragonfly beached on a sandbar,

out of gas, smarts or luck,

scuttled, the locals might say

and as all the facades turned

to stark silhouettes – mythical

palms, crafts with ropes taut

that bind them to unyielding

docks, parked in overpriced slips –

she said, look, it’s following,

not just behind us – I find myself

thinking of places I’ve never

been to. Look, mama, she said again,

 we are running into the darkness.