3 p.m. in Alameda only

myself and three ghosts awake

(sworn true by a former crewman);

only me glancing down at waters

sprinkled with half a moon.

Below deck, only

one man’s footprints

painted after splashdown

when I was 12, watching

black and gray lines

dancing on moonlight forever

for the first time;

only my son sleeping now

in his top bunk on this

scout sleepover

my wife and daughter

only a few miles across

a stretch of bay;

only one ghost now

hanging from his belt

in the forecastle over

coiled up anchor chains

ready to go to a home

he’ll never find.

 

10/99