By Eva Dias Costa in Lessons in the Quiet — 03 Nov 2024

Ghibli’s Patience

She rolls her eyes with a restless breath,
warm, wide, sails stretched taut,
fierce and bemused, half-playful,
half-tolerant of the creature she bears,
indulgent as she glides.

Her nimble hull hums and skips the waves,
tuned to storms and shifting skies,
to clouds with mischief in their bones –
they thrill you,
she only laughs, bright-eyed.

Named for the spirit'd wind, she spins
south, bright and full of the sea’s delight.
You, eyes wide, pinned to the blue,
heedless of rig and cunning gears,
her sway, the salt-born mysteries
that tether her to tide and world –
all that matters is the lift, the race,
her lean and lift through gust and tide.

She creaks, hums, a note of wry laughter,
bearing hands that chase the rush,
yet miss her bones, her briny craft,
and still she bears you – a guest, light as a gust,
full of salt and joy, none the wiser.

On calmer seas, she darts with serene grace,
casting a winking glance back –
her loving passenger,
afloat in skill, unaware.