I look in the mirror that is peeling away with age
and see I’m peeling away too with age
journey to dry dock in sight of my telescope
growing a sea captain’s beard, mostly gray
one that says “I’m a salty and wise old beard”
with the wisdom of ocean slapped sea mist
having washed through it hundreds
no, thousands of times
Atlantic, Pacific, Gulf of Mexico
the treacherous North Sea
where sad ships go to die
lying in coffins a thousand fathoms deep
below the cold, windswept couldn’t care less waters
that have no love for anyone
let alone a raggy seaman smelling of rum and rope
I have no ship to pilot these days
red sky at night no longer matters
my going to sea days have gone to hell
I only have the shipwrecked years
left to navigate through murky uncertain waters
