By Pavel Chichikov
A tabernacle where the bow is moving
In the black Caribbean, a soothing pock
Of scaled wings on the slashed sea
Small fish rise and soar above the white foam-flesh
Phosphorescent altar, furnishings and leapings,
Steady forward toward Antigua, full ahead,
While in a lighted deckhouse shooting craps
Sailors mock no unfrocked Christ
Night retreating, steady on toward landing,
Black space harbor on the quarter, out of time,
Island where the galaxies light up the streets
The pay of love goes spendthrift for eternity
Who will stand forever on a gang-plank watch?
The angel Michael, keeper of the deck –
Who will come aboard when night is done?
God keep them all forever, good St. John
(Click here to follow Pavel's ongoing epic poem “The Shoulder of the Sun.” You may visit Pavel's website at http://www.greyowlpress.com.)
