Passings in the night?

Heavy, the grey cloud latent on slippery waters still,

but never touching its crystal placid liquid gel.

Oddly somehow it appears to be slightly repelled,

the blanket of billowing fog is kept aloft like a sail,

as if its riggings be held.

Just enough hazy space between the ocean and the murky sky,

for the portages of each of our vessels to pass with out being seen,

like two shadows in the night.

Only the sounds of old creaking wooden grains and ghostly splashes against our bows,

dreams of maritime dreamers awaken to the reality of now.

Moistening mist pressing against us as, 

our journeys will now begin from different places,

slowly dripping slowly the salty sea’s tears from our faces,

The clasps of our hands were not strong enough, lost then losing the grips of our embraces.

But then maybe our imaginations were playing a trick to trick us,

as the rudder curved and the course’s changes changed us.

Illusions of our passings in the night?

I thought I caught a glimpse of a transom’s trickling wake I might.

I think I heard the echoing sound of the warning bell’s metered ringings,

falling away fading, forever fading,

from the bridge it sighed its wayward singing.

Like dropping a penny into a deep and dark abyss’s haunting hell,

dissapearing from my mind sight’s state,

lost at sea for ever more, fare thee well.