At the Straits of Gibraltar

Bent over the side-rails

I see him in the lush moonlight.

Is he suffering, as I once suffered

from the bouncing wave sickness

or is he reveling, as would a poet

at reflections in the water?

Look up fellow! There, ahead of us

are the Atlas Mountains. Whatever

your aches, they will be gone soon.

We shall beach our mechanical oars

on the wide white sands of Africa. And behold!

A whole continent is waiting.