In between and remote: vapour, sky, sea:

the pastel flag of some pelagic nation

whose burnished voyagers wander ghostly

over deep trenches below dark oceans -

chasms reserved for drowned seafarers,

Argonauts and admirals of the fleeting.

Adrift in a purgatory of sapphires

between elements and distant meetings.

Oh Mariner on your relentless quest!

What are you? Bedecked with an albatross?

A navy of one below tattered sails,

compass free, drifting to a dock unblessed

on the shores of all that's been known and lost.

Listen now! Wind chimed, the Kirk-top bell tolls.

By Marc Woodward / Poet / Devon @Marcomando