I read this late last night and decided nothing else would do for today. It’s not about betrayal. Nor it is about true love( which is much on Thea’s mind after a gloriously exhausting weekend on the Mainland with Most & Dear Maman attending the nuptials of dear ones). It speaks to the memory of those we love, and how we deal with their absence. How we voyage through the loves we lose, and somehow find hope in the dawn, how the unattainable, the unobtainable ‘destination’ of a departed lover leaves us unmoored and adrift. In danger….
The Ships Are Made Ready In Silence
Moored to the same ring:
The hour, the darkness and I,
Our compasses hooded like falcons.
Now the memory of you comes aching in
With a wash of broken bits which never left port
In which once we planned voyages,
They come knocking like hearts asking:
What departures on this tide?
Breath of land, warm breath,
You tighten the cold around the navel,
Though all shores but the first have been foreign,
And the first was not home until left behind.
Our choice is ours but we have not made it,
Containing as it does, our destination
Circled with loss as with coral, and
A destination only until attained.
I have left you my hope to remember me by,
Though now there is little resemblance.
At this moment I could believe in no change,
The mast perpetually
Vacillating between the same constellations,
The night never withdrawing its dark virtue
From the harbor shaped as a heart,
The sea pulsing as a heart,
The sky vaulted as a heart,
Where I know the light will shatter like a cry
Above a discovery:
Look. This is the morning.
W. S. Merwin