This Ship

Considering
the vagaries of life
and time, we should discuss
what will happen if
we do not see each other
again,

for this ship we’re on
is vast and leaking,
and a boatload of mystery
it is, with a cargo of loose ends
not likely to be tied up
while we roam rootless
around the Earth.

I can say on my part
that I never meant
to deliver the first wound
and am sure each of you felt the same,
it was never in our nature,
I know that now; we hurt each other
through unsteady footing
as we rocked and fought storms
and lost sight of the horizon,
I know that now.

There are words each of us meant to say
which remained unsaid
and things we did say
that we left mostly undefined,
so let us
admit without judgment
that we did not understand
each other well enough to be clear
of our mutual necessities for the voyage;
let it pass that all those things were unclear
and will remain so,
let us accept that this is how we are
and who we are,

for we were put aboard
with blank charts,
no anchor, too little sail,
no engine worth the mention.
No need for such power
when there’s no course before us;
we were put here not to arrive,
but to journey.

If we do not see each other again
in this life or any other, let’s agree
to each take the time,
whenever we can,
to imagine us all standing at the rail
confused but delighted at the endless,
deathless sea before us
with no need to speak of desperation
for once.  Imagine us all
in sunset, in sunrise, under a laughing moon.
Imagine a shared moment
where it didn’t need to make sense
that there was no sense to the voyage.

Imagine that moment
is this moment.

What is there to say but:

isn’t this
a grand, daft,
sacred sea we’re on?