It comes from far away. Maybe from those old songs in the joyous summers of the neighborhood. Sail the seas being captain of an English ship. Who would not want? Unfold the sails, raise the ratchet and smoke a pipe at the helm. Anchor on a distant island and write your name under a sunset. Kiss beautiful women, tattoo an anchor on your arms and count the stars next to a bottle of rum. I would want all of that. And drop ties again. And navigate. Sail climbing mountains of water. Beyond the storms. And tan the skin through the quiet valleys of salt.