The boat goes sailing on,

sailing on and on,

through calm seas and rough

and then into port for a time.


And I and you get on and help

steer its course for a while,

and then get off to stay

in port forever.


While others take our place

and head to sea with

their taste for life as thick

as the salt air that swirls

through their gasping lungs.


Like the ghost ship of yore

we all go sailing on and on

towards that thing so

ill-defined and wobbly that

we never reach it through pier

and tide and water.