It was “Haze gray and underway”,
a phrase I used in youth,
that turned my mind to retrospect;
perspectives gained. In truth
the mists of time come over me
in badly shuffled lines…
from views of Pharos lighthouse
to the taste of Spanish wines.
A smoky half-seen vision shows
a bar room near Jerez.
and ghostly Spanish Sailors
that my soul is drinking with.
The Pinta and the Nina crew
share wine with me it seems
before they sail with Cristobal
in Oceans of my dreams.
In forty nine I ride majestic
clippers round the horn
and sight fair Valparaiso
from the mast at early morn.
A Mariner in time, I am,
who sails a different way
who, from the Farallones, peers through
the mist to find the bay.
From north in *Christiana sail
the Vikings in their ships.
My hand is on the helm,
a warrior’s song is on my lips.
I sail in a Fjord of dreams
before the break of Spring
aboard a ship of fantasy
beside a northern king.
I sail the seas of history
a sailor, world renowned
The wonder of all wonders is…
the poet hasn’t drowned.
*Now known as “Olso, Norway”
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