Ships In A Bottle

The aurora sun
Rose in it’s ascent
A subtle arc
In the eastern pale cerulean
Washed out morn.

Refracting
On the thick leaden mason glass
That once held a well-aged brandy.

Bathing
Not just one
But two ships
En-route across the white-capped
Briny deep
Encased in the solarium.

The larger of the two
A square rigged galleon
Sails flying
Voyaged across the rounded bottle’s belly
Meticulously built
Finely detailed.

The second
A much smaller schooner
Crossed the harbor
Of the neck’s chamber
Sailing away from the collar
Towards the galleon
Never to gain.

What a rare beauty.

“How much?”
I asked it’s owner.

I knew it would be worth
Whatever he asked.

My breath palled out into the cold air
While I waited for his answer.

He played his cards and watched me
Inspect the treasure.

“Three Hundred.”
He returned.

There were about a dozen other
Aged bottles with boats in them
Laid out on his table
Amidst a bunch of other
Antique curios
That I would imagine
I could acquire for a lot less.

And while each one was unique
Carrying a certain theater of charm
None of them were so dramatic
As the piece in my hands.

“It’s a very special work of art.”
I acknowledged
Knowing that I couldn’t afford his price
That there wasn’t even reason
To bargain.

I settled the item
Back amongst the fleet
Taken by it’s calling
Wishing I was a little richer
Instead
Leaving
With empty hands pushed down in pockets
On that grey-blue morning.