Blue-Eyed Sailor
T
he brass compass in my pocket reminds me
Of how far we have to go. Your blue eyes twinkle
In my mind, the myriad wrinkles a map of fjords
Laid down by centuries of joy and sorrow. Hands
Grip firmly on the ship’s wheel, spinning it
Like the wheel of the year, the seasons, the world
Which may seem to change little, out here on the blue
Neverending plain, but you know better. There are
Seasons here, like any other. The salt air has a tang
Unique to each. The herds of fish run at expected times,
Or did until we fished them out, wasted hundreds
Of your flocks with our mess and greed. The Sea-Gods
Whom you wave to as you sail, they have taken to
Ramming our land with their wrath, to get our attention.
You are more forgiving, Fish-Herd, but do you weep
Grey tears to see what we have done? Cod, near gone,
The bluefin but a sliver, the halibut and snapper hardly in
The nets. Do you protect the last few, in some secret
Underwater pen, waiting for us to give up on the
Emptied oceans so that you may breed again your flocks!
I hope so, Keel-Lord, though it is more than we deserve.
May we turn our compasses around and look into
Our own folly, and fish it down instead. O blue-eyed sailor God
Who protects each small family man in the tiny wooden
Boat, competing with the great machines, protect them still
Until we prove ourselves good shepherds of more
Than neverending greed.
Artwork by Thorskegga Thorn. She writes, "He is shown here with herring, gulls, and the herb samphire beneath the cliffs of Dover with the Roman lighthouse."
with the Roman lighthouse.