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.