Brian London, M1, Class of 2028
The sailor seeks the harbor’s hush,
Storm-drunk skies in twilight rush;
Hands wear soft with salt and rope,
Anchored gently, held by hope.
Heart is compass—battered, brave—
Pulses tide through calm and wave;
Veins trace currents, azure lines,
Charting truths in coded signs.
Med Intima 