Fly, little boat

MATILDA

On a wintry day,

At a lightless bay,

A boat floats on an ice-still sea.

The waters part,

The stars a chart,

Directions in a world of melancholy.

As one looks on,

It starts to dawn,

The boat's sunk into invisibility.

You think it'll rise,

Fly into the skies,

For a second, abandoning rationality.