Let all my ships go, let them sail away.
Loosen the bolts, empty the cove,
the docks are at midnight, the ocean a sheen
of new water, soft-frothing, silk-green
beneath moonlight; here comes that old tide
lifting wooden planks, ropes, our sails flung wide
to the wind in a greeting, brief-fleeting, and hushed
as an ocean at midnight; its waters thick-brined
and swirling, with dreams we've charted, now known.
Its tempests familiar, rough waters like home,
and our damaged sails now dragging behind
we are hopeful, ship turned towards sky.