Captain's Song

My captain—shouting—“hold the lines!” I cry, He watches where the sea dissolves the sky. Not old, yet silver whispers through his hair A man who breathes of freedom everywhere. And I as well—by chance, by tide, by fate, In some lost port I saw him by the gate. He came ashore as lightly as he’d been— Half drunk, unbound, with nothing in his hand. No one could ever take him for the rest, Those drunken, salted, reckless, shameless men. For once you’ve truly seen him standing there, No lesser soul could ever quite compare. And not a second more I wished to stay, I only wanted then to run away, Beyond the line where all horizons burn, To sail beneath his flag and never turn. To drink the fire that tears into your throat, To scrub the deck and keep his ghost afloat— If only I could catch his fleeting trace, While he stood steady, helm within his grace. No earth had ever witnessed, I would swear, A captain half so fearless or so fair— And I was wild with him, like wind, like wine His freedom tasted sharp—and it was mine, But he would run—beyond the edge once more, Through storms no quiet life could ever shore. And I could see—he’d never choose to live The kind of peace that I had learned to give. And so I cried: “Come run away with me! What is this land? We’re strangers—can’t you see?” He raised the flag—without a glance at me, He called the rest— and vanished in the sea.