Laccadive Sea

  We know how long the crossing takes.
  There is precedent and all the 
  measuring genius of the ages, all 
  those who’ve made it through before.
  
  Then something that happens, inside 
  the calibration of waves, and mid-sea 
  we start going nowhere, momentum 
  only a stasis of motion. There is no
  
  knowing how long it takes, not an 
  albatross or pirate, spouting whale
  or sage to guide us through the
  passage between. Sun-struck 
  
  Laccadive Sea, something someone 
  wrote once on a map, and it stuck: 
  waves and air, sound and space. We 
  cross the time-line, that was never there.
  
                         At sea, June 2015