Sailors' song

The sea tunnels forward as a hymn
with nothing in it
but alleluia,

word lifted and lowered over eleven notes
as though the sound
were a wooden boat upon a real sea,

true boat tossed mightily
until it slips into utter senselessness,
becomes lulled into pure vowel,

timbre of the singers gone sugary and soft,
rosy as the daily wash
of pale pinks and mauves upon the shore:

reflected colors of the sailors’ sky,
chorus breaking upon the watery edge,
sailors singing of the world.