The Good Tension

I have faith,
in the propulsion.
That had the good grace,
to put me here.

That placed me upon this
Rarest of wet rocks.

I am an all-too fleshy ship.
Moored within,
her gracious docks.
Not sometimes, A little bit lost.

Trying to find the centre point.
Upon which to pull a string on this thing.

To set it sails,
Taught against the wind.
Leaning in,
to the good kind of tension.

Aligned with a sun-soaked horizon,
& the correct direction,
That we’re supposed to be going in.