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Dave Bonta
Early to walk
up and down the ship—
here with nothing but the most
epicure-like going.
A borrowed voyage:
we dine and talk
and the wine is
excellent company.
the urge to go on a voyage
body moving with purpose
the devil is in on it
the best way to keep me from myself
whatever comes of history
we could wake without hurting it
hunt for a nipple
in the clear rain
These were the ragged peon crews,
Half-bloods of Aztec women,
Of Spaniards and adventurers
Who were not seeking heaven!
But out on the broad seas driven,
And from the Horn to Sitka,
They searched for deep-sea findings
The whole unknown way,
With "small ringing of bells
And no trumpet blare,
Empty stomachs, and empty guns,
But plenty of prayer."
And if they failed of the findings,
Nothing behind but the branding irons,
Or slavery in the mines.
Yet they sang
Silently fell
The snow on the waters
In the grey dusk
Of the winter evening:
Swirling and falling,
Sucked into the oily
Blue-black surface
Of the sea.
We pounded on slowly;
From our bows sheeted
A shuddering mass of heavy foam:
Night closed about us,
But ere we were darkened,
We saw close in
A great gaunt schooner
Beating to southward.
The honey-colored moon,
Washed in silver;
The stars, luminous clusters of
Grapes, hung from invisible vines.
Ah, were I a daring mariner,
I would sail on the barge of the moon
To the far island of God's mirth,
Where they drink star-wine,
And dance to the music of the spheres.