Three Nights at Sea
westward setting sun rising moon and no green flash
on the horizon
though I watched for it while the sky's dome
divided itself into shades of blue and black
and the day's last flight from Boston
left a trail overhead
next night I slept on deck and then
on watch there was only one long freighter
to ring the bell about;
constellations blew by,
probably Cassiopeia and the Seven Sisters
but I knew them by different names
the third night out
we divvyed up the stars like colored beads,
taking pains to leave enough
for lovers on the shore;
the shooting stars were the most precious -
we only owned them for a second
and each night I was glad to know
that the moon I saw was the moon you saw
on another continent, only an hour before