The boat begins to slow down
and forgets to blow its horn.
The beacon is far:
can't feel its warmth from here,
only its blinking is certain.
The waves reach the sky,
their crests are like clouds,
stars inside them: fish eyes.
Here the boat begins to slow,
to swim with a slow current
so the water won't wash
the trickled castles by the shore away,
and it won't sweep through the rocks of the pier;
.
The machinery must be turned off for good,
so the rub of the body can be heard,
and a voice must ask carefully
for the name of the port.