The minute audience,

the clock, an oasis —

and sovereigns at journey’s end,

the deliverance near.

Where one moment

becomes another

and in intrinsic lineup

they wait for the fish to jump

from the silver sea. 

Emily Isaacson

Toiling at sails,

the long afternoon

a circumference in shadow,

and the pleated skirts,

rustling in time,

the juxtaposed life, ruinous,

and thunder on the horizon.

We clapped to the bagpipes,

and nodded to youth;

Freedom spread its wings,

nurturing the homage

which dares to fly. 

Emily Isaacson

When your strong arms

find the mast, and the deck

whistles on a passage to India ... 

We are dressed in white linen

and drink lemonade,

the rough bread, coarse in our fingers,

the water, in fields of blue.

Ships pass far on the horizon,

islands come and disappear,

the great tales amuse us long

into the lantern-lit night,

the sea, a giant towering above us,

immense and staid beneath our hearth. 

Emily Isaacson