Half the time the crack is in sight,
it seems to grow a little each night.
Each wave that hits hard on the side,
bobbing up and down on this seaward ride.
Past the sight of land and birds,
half the time yelling to hear just words.
Salt tastes like it is in the air,
the smell of the ocean everywhere.
The crack it leaks inward bound,
slowly filling us without a sound.
Will we sink and never show,
or can we make it to where we go.