A small boat flounders in the deep waves, and what's coming next
is coming with its own heave and grace.
--from Have You Ever Tried To Enter the Long Black Branches?
by Mary Oliver
These few words, from the longer poem, were a consolation
and mantra for me some years ago when my own boat/life
was caught up in a seemingly never-ending whirlpool-tailspin
of death and disintegration, and I sought for meaning in events
that defied explanation.
These boats, however, are undergoing their own gentle
sinking: no floundering, no heave; perhaps only grace.
Salvageable, in the wake of the storm: