Oh, let me climb those ladders again,
machinery gray steel ladders,
to the pilot house with an open bridge,
the enclosed pilot house holding
the large helm for steering her by
and
the engine order telegraph for the lee helmsman
to send the orders to main control
for speeds and engine revolutions
and
at the center gyroscope repeater
just below the portholes
looking out on the forecastle
shine the flashlight’s red light
on the captain’s night orders,
signing them as if in blood
to relieve the officer of the deck,
announcing
i have the deck and the conn,
and
when the off-going watch has struck below,
walk out to that open bridge
to scan the horizon to determine
if there are any contacts about,
undetected by combat information center,
with the olive-green foul weather jacket
zipped to the top,
with the cover pulled down
to face the wind,
feel it biting into my cheeks,
smelling the salt and the sea,
awed by the millions of heavenly objects,
take a breath, a deep breath,
and
say to myself:
when you are feeling the wind
on a ship at sea
you are alive.