To Reach that Seaward Strand

there are laws
that guide the slipstream
of even the sleekest boats

so I built this one
better than the last

before the shoreline
hides the stubble of broken rock
and the skeletons of hulls split wide

I build the finest ships
of teakwood
and brass
and finer things than have names
known anywhere near here

I trace the shape of that coast
against my thigh, even asleep
I whisper the names of those coves
inlets, and bays faster
and with more force
than my own name

I will not reach that seaward strand
but I build the finest ships
year after year,
of teakwood
and brass
and finer things than have names
known anywhere near here