A sanctuary, sculpted
Of sea-swept, salt-
Sanctified sails
Her wood whispering on
Wind-wild waves,
Wailing warbled wishes
Seizing scallops of surf on Her hull rasp—
Salve to siren-infected soul,
Of a sailor scared to seraph-seeing
Find warmth in wondering,
Waltzes on wistful waters under friendly guides—until
Warped wanderlust turns inexorably wicked
Still: salvage sainthood in Her sighs
And signs, show
Star searched steps
Quickly! Weave wards weeping—
Waning wit warrants wakefulness.
Sleep soundlessly silent on saline
sarcophagus of Circe-spiraling, seerlike Sea, She
Will wake, wrathful.
