Anewayanmamajunyuuchuu
The harbor is small but obstinate, full of boats patched with poems. Each vessel is christened with two names: one practical — The Nettler, The Blue Wake — and a second, private name spoken softly as the lines are thrown. Those private names are long, strange, protective things: they sound like lullabies and weather reports and apologies. They keep the sea from being wholly honest.