Rising storms on the coast, black as can be on the green green sea.
We alter our course when heavy drops hit the water.
We reef and sail away from lightning,
Sudden and violent gusts and little white teeth of froth,
Rocking and shaking jib and main.
Even the burgeoning beasts have disappeared behind black walls;
No citadel can give us shelter from thunder heard not far;
We zigzag and dodge low dark masses, close on a near horizon
Narrowing down on us, sucked up to Oz or wonderland?
Bearings and marks, yellow and black,
The tide‘s out and we wait, just outside trouble,
Watching uneasy moments.

Pascal Legrand

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