414-418
We found ourselves a-strewn upon a sea
and awful sharp and shrewd a sea was she,
and all that we could do, our ship to stay,
was chasing one faint light, so far away.
Our treasures flew from out the ship on waves
that crushed our ores and snapped the ropes to bits,
and stormclouds grew like mourners at our graves,
and all the light of stars they did eclipse.
But one light yet, that light so far away
we followed. ‘Twas the only thing for us,
as many who’d embarked with us that day
were wrenched from decks in billows ruinous.
‘Til finally we crashed upon that shore
wherefrom the light had come to us afore:
~
We looked back at the sea we had just crossed
and saw, despite all odds, each storm we’d known,
we saw where precious things and souls were lost
and where our hopes had died, and courage flown.
Then, on the shore, we wept for all of it.
We could not say if we had lost too much
when hurricane did fall, and headwind hit;
and wanted not to slow our tears as such.
But when we counted those we knew had died,
we saw no soul at all was truly lost.
But lost were many who were at our side,
we knew—or else—what else had been the cost?
Our eyes met every other eye on shore,
and on this mystery we did explore:
~
A friend I knew had fallen from the deck
I found, and he found me, and this we said:
“were you indeed the one in the shipwreck
who said, ‘go with the other ships—I’m dead’”?
He said, “no, that was you, I’m sure of it.
The rest of us continued on alone.
Tho seeing you here now can’t counterfeit
the loss I thought I, and the crew, had known.”
The same lines everywhere were so rehearsed
by all who’d landed on this canny shore.
No man knew who had right to say his first—
no one was certain of which one was sure.
Thus we continued in our disarray,
until, from inland, someone came our way:
~
“I am the lightkeeper of this good shore,”
said he, who came toward us in our daze.
“All of your loss, each wound, each searing sore
is true, tho out upon the sea it stays.”
“The wind’s job is to bring you here to me,
where I could guide you from my tower, high.
But as for the work of the wily sea,
her trade it is to take your ships awry.”
“This island is no joy to those who know
no loss nor tenderness for those who lose.
The journey is a heavy one, but so’s
the one that hides all hardship to amuse.”
He said, then gave us time to recollect
the veil that none of us could presuspect:
~
Our hearts still ached, our eyes still shed their tears,
our bones still felt the weariness of years,
but joy indeed was set in us like weirs,
for reason had now fled from all our fears.
And soon we saw the island where we’d crashed;
and every precious thing we’d lost at sea
before our red, bewildered eyes now flashed
in paradise-like shrines for us to see.
We’d weep again for all our sorrows deep,
but Love would watch us in our tearful sleep.
For Love we called that shore, where we’d been led,
who’d taken pain and made it peace instead.
And now we each take turns to watch the deep—
to man the lighthouse, and its guidance keep.