Caravel

From the November 2008 Print Edition

My worn sails are lowered, flaked, and stowed below; this prow may lift no more to the green wave’s rocking. Though the wind blows fresh at daybreak and the beckoning horizon draws taut my stays, I may not go. Survivor of a hundred storms, brought home in tow, moored to the outermost buoy, . . . . Continue Reading »