The Cemetery of Sailboats

by Alice Backhurst

Ripped sails cannot catch the wind.

All I failed to contain,

waves slow in thick air,

signals 

lost at sea.

My words fail on the tongue,

like shanties never sung.

Only the wind is witness

to the crime of gulls,

when a man overboard

slowly sinks.

The current keeps its claim,

and no one calls my name.

Hands, roughened by rope,

can grip only a maddening wheel.

But this wreck can’t land, so then

adrift, I let go.

Resting where broken masts lean,

as crosses in salt.