The yacht was still, still as the midnight wind.
Rocking gently creating swirling ripples around its frame
Rocking so slight reflecting the moons shadow
A whistle of air and a swift blow of wind can destroy its still essence and send it plummeting vivaciously into the depths of the unknown.
Did it disappear? Did it rise back to the surface?
It’s rusty. The yacht became damaged. Damaged from its experience.
But the yacht survived.