his white whale,
but I,
I go chasing
after white sails
Cape Cod Bay—
just one schooner
on her way
to the races
and a looming hurricane
Hellsgate—
deceptively quiet
at midnight
and slack tide
as we ghost through
the sea
like rippled silk,
a blue
no dyer
will ever match
spray flying
and clouds gathering
ah well
it’s a problem
for the next watch
a moment’s rest
before dinner—
scribbling a few lines
so I won’t forget
this day
a zephyr
with teeth,
thirty knots
howling through
the rigging
at sea
on my son’s birthday,
no way to call him,
but I think of him
all the same
Manhattan’s
fabled skyline—
pretty to look at
but I wouldn’t want
to live there
surprisingly
little traffic
in Long Island Sound,
whatever happened
to the great port of New York?
Manhattan sunset
white and red lights
like gems
as seen from the deck
of a passing ship
at the end
of a day’s sailing,
the cat’s grey fur
sparkles
with salt crystals
a Yankee port
buried somewhere under
the yachts
and mansions
of Martha’s Vineyard
no king
on a gilded throne
could ever equal
the glory of
a sailor at sea
God made
the seas so large
so men would have
an inkling of
His majesty
sea legs—
the ship
standing still
in the middle
of a topsy turvy world
beam sea
watching the books
topple left
then right
on the bookshelf
the cruise ship
with her passengers
dwarfs us—
and so do
their wallets
I miss
the solitude
of a wintry sea,
just God, work,
and the clatter of oysters
Seamen's Bethel
with a hurricane coming
I sit in those
bony pews and contemplate
the the hundreds of names not written
~passages from Cape Code to New York City
