In the first sentence our boat leaves the dock, into an ocean of words.
As captain and navigator I decide: East or west? North or south?
Who will dine with me at the captain’s table this night? Who will tumble over the rail?
Will there be secrets and intrigue, murder and mayhem? Or an affair to remember?
How turbulent will the seas grow? How contrary the winds?
I’ll brook no mutiny; my crew fears, no, respects me even as they mutter behind my back:
She has no idea how to bring this boat into port. We’re doomed to wander through eternity.
I fear they’re right, but still I hold the course and dance when the band starts to play.