The hull pitching, dipping, plowing abruptly

through the whitewash, the midnight blue.

Like a fluid mountain range spewing

Salty spray, rising higher every interval.

On the horizon, two mountains, one

so still, so eternal, the other

looming, our inevitable demise. The wall

Of water, of darkness, inching nearer

And nearer with each consecutive stroke.

The everlastingness of Fuji could never

save us now. The wall persisted,

continuing to climb into the heavens,

the sky turning from cerulean to

the darkness of night, of death.

It had arrived. Was it death?

Was it the mountain? Surely both.

The bow climbed, and climbed towards

the stars, now vertical. A mighty

crash of darkness, then white light.

That moment, our bodies plunged deep,

but our souls ascended skyward, peace.