Leaving 2016

Tide’s running out
Cast off the lines,
Haul up the sail and make the halyard fast
Let wind fill our sails.

Fog rolling in
As we set our course in the growing twilight
We see no horizon,
Sea and sky unbroken, gray.

Groaning fog horn, gusts of wind,
Salt spray stings our faces
Straining to see the next marker
Through deepening mist.

Last buoy clanks farewell
In a choppy, confused sea
The harbor disappears behind us,
Swallowed by waves and sky.

Adrift now, but looking ahead to the east
Unsure of what morning will bring,
Adjusting our sails
Toward an uncertain sunrise.