Another breakfast, another town. Walk a bit, then we turn around. Itinerized coastal places on some map. Designed for strolling, trinkets and a nap.
Another view of sea and sky, Hoist the anchor and say Goodbye. Out to sea, back through the door. Trekking, balanced on a watery floor.
Food, drink, and merriment I think. Then it’s night, on an ocean of ink. Should I write? It makes me shudder. To eclipse the job of a rudder.
I choose the job of luxuriously drifting. And give up on the heavy lifting. From villages to others we darted. Now, we’re back where we started.
Terra firms is what it is called. It just feels like we have stalled. More to come at another time. For now – it’s enough to rhyme.