The long curved seed pods
are tattered pieces of sail
whipped in the wind.
Branches are twined as ropes
not knowing which way to go,
to hold a ship steady.
Who could know the mind
of a storm over an island
nearly seven hundred miles at sea
with only a battalion of reefs
to guard her? Gusts, so deliberate
and grand that ‘all hands lost’
could mean ligaments torn off
in the pull of trying to still
a schooner meant to fly.
All fists trying to close
a curtain that keeps
becoming more of a sky.
•••
Nancy Anne Miller was born in Bermuda and has a MLitt in Creative Writing from the University of Glasgow. Her poems have appeared in numerous journals, including tongues of the ocean. She has been included in the several anthologies. She was a MacDowell Fellow in 2008, and organized Ber-Mused, a poetry event for Bermuda’ s 400th Anniversary.She leads poetry workshops at The Bermuda National Library.
tongues of the ocean 
tongues of the ocean issue 8 | Scavella's Blogsphere
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Lynn Sweeting
nice spare language, beautiful image, i like this poem a lot.