.
eyes peeled past horizons
primed to plunder utter space
man, set to pluck from its gleaming sea
whatever sails by, to pillage each wave,
to suck even the mists of vapor that fly white
from the curl of the first crest,
that fly from the richest curl of every crest,
that fly free from the last curl of the last crest
before it rolls and tumbles rough
into a single trough
and when the wind dies and the sea’s still,
smooth as a baby’s cheeks or a shaven face,
when clouds sail quietly overhead like fleece,
that picaroon will have grabbed his loot
self-satisfied he did not cheat to gain its grace
………………………
Jim Culleny
June 4, 2009
…………………………
Blink 