We sail at night. Past the fire station, past the prison,  
past the coast guard. We sail on top of crane lights  
and moonlight. An oil tanker disrupts the glass  
of the surface, mixing luciferin and photoprotein 
with its 100 ton rudder. When the blue glow fades  
a sailor explains how to count the lines  
on the bottom. Red line exposed  
means it’s empty, waiting to be loaded with crude oil.  
Does it know hunger? A cargo ship will return empty  
to China. He’s sure it’s China. He’s sure we don’t  
export anything from here. 

We learn about scale while navigating  
around trawlers. Trawlers dash away from  
the wake of a cruise ship. Do they know our  
machine sounds confuse the migration patterns  
of whales? Sea lions follow our sailboat,  
the last free mode of transportation. If the wind  blows  
strong enough we arrive in time for dinner. We tether  
to a mooring ball on the outskirts of the boat city, find sleep  
while counting the shipping containers. We wake to metal  
grinding. How do they maneuver the cranes up and down? 
Is there anything human inside?