Same Boat Different Day (Dec. 17, 2004)

Night sea journey, Odyssey,
Christian immrama, whaling
tale: The islands have all
changed to greet the
aches of voyagers with
names the age required,
but the heave from knowns,
the open sea, and sight
of the next shore
are ever wild, old gods
reborn in each day’s
dripping, heaving sun.
I’ll never know what
I’ll say next, nor where
you’ll catch my eye
with glint or curve
or hollow, though I
trust my long oarings
down the page to
lean into whatever
current your provide.
I don’t even have
a name for this --
it’s not poetry
the world remits
but rather prayer
of a newer old sort,
a prowing and
plowing of the vowels.
Nor do I have
a lasting name for you,
beloved shore, lost
lover, Oran’s mouth
like’s Christ’s without
all the whiteness.
This sea chantey’s
content to simply
ride the morning’s
waves like Arion
on his fish, singing
loud and twixt the
ages from shore to
shore to shore. Let me for
my so short while fin
the depths where whales
weave round swoony
nerieds. May all I’ve sung
house in a sea-salt
cellar for your blue
cookery, a shot of
bittersweetness folded
in that big night music
crashing down
forever’s shore.