The Wake

The white ship slides serene, wind-blown,

heedless of its human burthen

while laying wakes but swiftly flown.

 

Mile-on-mile the dance of heathen

sunbursts play on flashing waters

pretty as maids, or bonds that weaken

 

as the leaving fades. The snows that fought us

in winters past, tall drifts in proud array,

melt clear in spring before our youngest daughters.

 

Sailors trace passage in an ocean's sway

as leaving home marks quiet tears

for dread beginnings. Heaven's rains wash sins away

 

as Nature's hand wipes clean their ancient fears

of pasts and futures. Stormbringers vow revenge

but fall quiet as the thunder nears.

 

Chris Hubbard

Funchal, 2018.