It’s May and the maple wings are flying;
but my heart harks back to the bleak February
day when your little boat put out into the deep.
After a long winter of black branches flaying
slate gray skies, the wind wears a leafy
fullness and, in the warm space between
the gray rain’s laments, in the cloud dissipating
sunshine, why now am I swept back
on a dark heading into the storm’s keep?
I cried then too, the night you embarked,
sailing your little lightship beyond the shores of sleep
into the heart of a silence my cries cannot pierce.
Hold fast to your station, little lightship.
Stay and wait for me— keeping your one sure spot
for the sounding ships— so that I will not
be lost in the darkness; but when the sun sinks
for the final homecoming I shall steer true.
For my soul is restless until it rests with you.