The Bluefish Sailor

The Bluefish Sailor

From the balcony I watched
the sloping waves splash by.
I’ve got no proof,
but why would I lie to you.
The Caribbean moon was hiding
from the star-lights,
his features were obscured,
but he did wear a luminous beard.

We were sailing away from our sliver of hope,
when my mind’s canvas had entirely painted February
complete with sprinkled diamonds against
midnight heavens guiding us onward,
away from perdition, a part from bursting volatilities,
only to be recouped by that black magnetic Caribbean moon.

His face was missing, but I knew he was there.
He returns to the shores of Nassau each night
with his audience, the Milky Way
reassuring us that tomorrow will come
and good old reliable time will abscond.
Said to heal all bluefish sailors,
the moon, the sea work in unison,
accept prayers and clean up
the mistakes made by The Maker.
         
Scott Zirkelback
March 12, 2012

2nd Place, Peace River Center for Writer’s Spring Poetry Contest, May 14, 2012