I love

The forgetfulness that comes from
Speed-floating towards nothing near
The quaint line of yellow to blue;
Rippling with the current that flops
My lop side boat; tops and turvey.

 

I am

Swallowed by the sea of blue/green,

I feel

 

My scraggly strands tightly knitting
Themselves in knots of two and three,
The sun crawling slow on pink flesh,
And salty crisp; coating clean lips.

My wee boat billows back and forth
On the surface of scaly seas. 
It does not sink although it rocks
above the sleepy seaweed deep.

A small journey as this, bales out
The obstruction and the clutter
And replaces it with repose.