sail, against whatever wind

I don’t dare care.
Against what they say, I know.
I trust the journey: the beckoning glow
Of an algae-crested, sail-riven oceanic wave
Beneath the whisper-slip of my sleepless bow
And wet brow of rowingly faithful knave;
I’ll kiss every last gypsum grain,
Somehow, on that far-off
Shore. Tomorrow,
If not now.

—for jk, kj and kr