Matt Sadler

The sun hits the left side
of your face draped
over the empty
boom, no wind, no
boat in the storm, but 

we can trade all fear
for one fear alone, the
white pickled finish and a clean
woodline on the vessel, 

the taut geography of filament
trolling behind and what’s
below the surface finally
agreed upon by the 

living just before
the sound cue
and the definition
and the dark