Team Player

Copyright © 2010 Michael J Emerson

This work is registered with the UK Copyright Service.


Can you hear the ancient engine throb

pulsing through the decking at your feet?

Can you feel the bow spray on your face

and smell the heaving, unforgiving sea?

Are you leaning like a film star from the prow,

the universe cascading on your breast,

hair floating in the vacuum of your wake,

held upward by the rush of passing stars,

propelled by gravity, density, heat, friction

       and spin?

Are we ends in our selves or a grubbing

in the mud, interconnected and complex,

shedding skin and information to a labyrinth

       of hungry organisms?

Do we serve a chemical function, no more?

Are we reducible to mundane facts, equations?

It would seem so yet our experience provides

       the necessary ingredients to dream.

Dream up gods and good and bad,

make shapes on the horizon, inhabit the sky,

fill in the blanks, follow the signs, join up the dots,

       measure and describe, tell it how we will.

Hang our clusters of random collisions

       out from the prow and ride.