Verse 21
Silver captain above the mast, pull the sea but not my bones.
Silver captain above the mast, pull the sea but not my bones.
The harbor sleeps in ropes and tar; your road begins where ours is dark.
I trust no star that does not move, yet I trust you who never stay.
The tide writes north upon the pilings, then erases its own advice.
A sailor loves what can betray him from a distance.
Tonight the water climbs the quay as if remembering a higher world.
A cat aboard the spice ship knows the safest crate and therefore outranks us all.
When clouds devour your face, we steer by instruments and pretend not to miss you.
Every map is a confession that the world exceeded one man's eyes.
If I drown, do not make a myth of it. Mark the reef.
If I return, do not call it destiny. Mend the sail.
Yet when the black water shines beneath you, even I understand why navigators became priests.
Guide us badly enough that we remain awake.