The Winged Victory

The boat moves through the water. 
It cuts the sloshing, the sparkling, 
with clear direction. 

There are people standing on the dock. 
They peer into the ocean, 
but they only see
their shoes. 
The wind tugs their hair, 
but its fingers slip. 
And they are left alone, 
with an ocean
sparkling,
too bright to see into. 

The people look up
at the boat. 
They imagine they are flying 
across the sea.
They transfer a little weight to their toes 
and lean foward, 
foward and out.