Trade Winds

I rest upon a dried river's bed
And through my head flow memories of oak hulls
Drifting over mystical crystals
Of glittering rainbow blue.

Holding the breeze with webs of rope
Watching the tensely sensing canvas
Searching for the most laden sail.

Becalmed, they beach around raging tables
Overflowing with disputed half forgotten truths,
Until another creaking gust
Hauls them on to something new.

Then, the villain of the piece
Tired of being a conversation piece
Jumps ship, leaving the motley crew
To run aground, driven by their own vices.

Washed up hulk, as good at keeping water in as out,
Open to showering skies that trickle through gaps
Filling connecting flowing flooding,
A fortress of water standing by an empty river.