Drogue Drift

Drogue Drift by john clare

You could call it the bitter end
of the rope
The point beyond where the fire
fused the strands
The unraveled part that did not
go through the ring
In the taunt the line turns astern
In a vertical load the lift
as the sea claw is freed
Then a straight yaw as the drift begins.
Into the beam sea they go with
memories of mooring
Above the laughing terns mock the folly
In cabin canoes they ply on
in dead reckoning
Paying the price of anchors rejecting.