September Wind

It is a wind
of September
brusing my skin
into rising lumps
as it speeds across
the sky, white tails flying
the blue

and the ships
heave into
on a lumpy sea,
freed from the mush of
mist shrouding
the far thin line

they dip and rise
in the wrinkled water, their
prows drip with
diamond drops as they
rythmically nod and
spread a wash of purpose
in their wake.
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