Unbottled Note

There wasn't any wind left
in the old sails.

We drifted aimlessly
through the abyss
on lazy green tides,
rode the backs
of invisible serpents
until the stars changed
and we couldn't even guess
where we were anymore.

After months
with the sails down,
a day finally came
when the sun rose
bearing a brash breeze
from the boiling orange east.

We were
on the ropes hoisting,
slicing through waves again
chasing the west,
abandoning ourselves
to the faith
there was land
out there somewhere.

Somehow it made sense
to keep following the sun.