I took this journey for love,
 not death.
Each night, Captain reminds me,
 could be my last.
Each day, I'm blessed
 with light, wind, and salt.
Strange, my being taught
 to command men.
My duties I fulfill,
 thankful for my life.

If love were a wound, it would be a flower

Petals cry as the sunlight,
 so long gone,
 returns, oblivious to small sadness.
Life pulps through cold limbs;
 corpuscles burn.
The flower opens its eyes
 and takes in the sky
 and the fire.
Red petals soak up the blues
 as they stretch in ecstasy
 and throb till they spy sunset.
The joy that laughed with the sun
 whispers to the stars.