The Captain’s Last Barge

On the banks he stands, a coryphaeus

To the unmanned ships long since fallen still.

His vision of live planks deciduous

As his lady love, alone upon the hill.

His blade yammers for blood, rusted and slack,

Guarding lost victualers by the purling

Of swells and waves, of seas and nights gone black.

His eyes rimmed by dream-lights still a-swirling,

He is casting doubt aside, shillelagh

Raised high above the broken head and hair.

The wind keens, yet he scorns that atomy

Which might rescue him from Medusa’s stare.

He stands on the hill, once apollonian,

With no one to see that coward soul broken.