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Tired yellow hulls pushing through obsidian water
Flecks of the setting sky tucked amongst every ripple
A spray of pearls with every turned blade
Carving out a path through a liquid mass

Push, turn, pull, turn,
I see nothing, not grey, not white, not black
Not a single drop of colour lands
On my unfocused eyes

The Zone, it’s called
Where your conscious shuts off
You don’t know while it’s happening
But when you notice - it’s gone

It’s peaceful, in way
Even if I’m somewhat blind
Calm waters midst stirring seas
Not a thought or worry in sight

Tired yellow hulls slowing in obsidian water
Flecks of lamplight tucked amongst every ripple
Feathered blades raised triumphantly
Pulling up to dock.