Untitled Document

The Captain's Final Dream
Liam Guilar

1

Too tired to cheer, we saw the harbour lights.
We smelt the city on the off-shore breeze
and in our minds, we'd tied up at the dock
slung seabags over salted, aching shoulders
trudged up the hill to well-lit bars
to spend the evening and the night
in brothels drinking, dancing
telling stories of the long haul out.

We'd braved the storms and fears, the chance of loss,
knowing at the end we'd find a harbour
where fear and storms were colours of a narrative
we'd tell to justify our presence in the bay.
Long evenings drying in the sun, nights
we believed were ours by right of scars
we'd show to prove our stories true;
the way a broken mast commemorates a gale.

Too tired to see the tide turn,
or feel the wind change, til we heard the waves
beating on the wrong side of the hull.
We watched the entrance closing up,
and fall away across our stern
until we couldn't tell the harbour lights from stars

2

That was so long ago.
I count the time in empty water casks
and biscuit barrels scraped of crumbs.
The sail flaps loose, the men no longer have the strength to row.
The ship leaks green and will not hold her head.
The days repeat themselves, with only names
of those that die to differentiate one from the next.
On the horizon, knife-slit
across the blue sky's throat,
clouds mock us in the shapes of land.

3

If you sail this far, believe me,
we landed on the coast of paradise
green like a definition of that word.
We sailed our long ship up the beach
and those who could collapsed on shining sand
and those who could searched out fresh water.
It tasted like the wine god still denies himself
to prove his virtue.

The people here, though few, have welcomed us
They smile the way Eve did to comfort Adam waking
on his first day outside paradise.

The crew repairs our ship
dreaming of the harbour that we missed.
I told them: if you stumble into paradise
give thanks. Don't fortify yourself with God or gold or duty
or claim this place was not your destination.
Accept your circumstance.
Give thanks.
They place a hammer in my hands

Liam Guilar was born in Coventry , England and moved to Australia in 1986. He has two collections published, The Poet's Confession , a chapbook, and an award winning book called I'll Howl Before you Bury Me, available from Interactive Press. Selections and reviews at: http://www.ipoz.biz/titles/howl.htm