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Anchor of yearning,
Cleat me to the seabed
Where boneless algae stands upright.
If the breakers grow fat on kelp,
Then let me sleep among the drowned.
Keel of tenacity,
Propel me through this saw-like cove
Before drowned sorrows resurface,
Oily as tentacles,
Intent on dragging our frail craft under.
Bowsprit of fealty,
Lash my limbs to the figurehead
When green salt spices the deck
And no terra firma stands in sacred sight,
That I may face the wind’s crescendo.
Yard-arm of solicitude,
Poise me above board, over the gulf
That an iron prayer may be offered
For this uncalled ship
To land at safer shores.
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