I heard the horn blowing, from a distance I cannot see. I am relegated to the deck, in the cold crisp air that slices any warmth it finds. I remember the glow of your skin, how it enveloped me in. The sea is not meant for mankind, she warns us as we go and then tosses us to certain death after we fail to take heed.

Oh my love, today marks day 80 since I have seen you last. I am not meant for this. The men stare at me below decks, they know something is different. I don’t speak to them much. My friends are the mice that nibble on my food at night. How simple and fulfilled their lives must be. They are born, they eat, they make life and they die.

I speak to God on your behalf, his answers are the whispers of the sun in the morning. Sometimes when I’m on watch, I can hear violins being played from off the bow of the ship. They sound like a chorus of your voices. You are the air that I breathe.
I am afraid of the sea, her anger is deeper then her depths. Was satan cast into the sea? Is that the reason for her temper? Is she a prisoner to his taunts?

The waves roll on and we seem to flounder for days on end amid the blackened sky and falling rain. I make haste for night nears and the howls of the gael storms stirred in with the cries from the beats beneath the hull. So dark this night as I rub my weary eyes. In that moment of blackness, you appear, your limbs, your arms, your strength and the warmth of your chest on mine.

I’ll leave you with this my love...

The wind blowing through the eucalyptus trees, and the sun moving downward, the light fading into blue. We were in each other’s arms, that last night, before the ship arrived and moved me from our hidden love, our secret desire, our preciousness. The clouds rolled by, and the ground trembled as the earth applauded our love. Surely God in heaven smiled at his sons in the long grass.

J.M. Prater