Dave Bonta's poem reads like a set of invented proverbs, each one sounding wise while refusing to quite explain itself. The first is the most lyrical: sun on the water "shall never thirst." It's a small image of something surrounded by what it needs, and it has the calm, blessing-like tone of an old saying.
The next two turn more puzzling and a little wry. A fine cook kneels humbly at communion, as if skill with food and reverence for bread belong together. Then a captain who has to go on foot gives an order for ships to carry horses, a neat irony: someone stripped of his own mobility arranges for others to move.
The speaker never comments or tells us what to feel, so the tone stays dry and observant. The mood is quiet, slightly playful, and open-ended. The poem seems to invite us to supply the lesson ourselves, and to enjoy how proverbs can sound true even when we can't say exactly why.