Some morning we will wake at anchor
and pausing between sleep and life
will feel the stillness
which tells us we are moored
in the unknowing present.
Today’s course, charted
with precision, marked
on the log board to guide us past
reef and rock and shoal - discarded,
our voyage awaits a change of wind.
Rising to the wheelhouse
as daylight creeps
across the quiet island we
will log with secret joy
our course and position -
”Fog bound, Mystery Bay.”
I love poem endings that, coming as a surprise, surprise by drawing everything together. Very nice. "What a great way / to spend the day / fog bound / in Mystery Bay"