The Ancient Modern
Voyage / Joshua Alan Sturgill
A beautiful ship whole and unweathered vividly painted, richly supplied could never have reached the other shore. The first storm tore the sails we would have unfurled in retreat. A tidal wave broke the anchor we would have lowered out of fear. Lightning struck its oaken deck and carved rails and our beautiful ship broke or burned or burst apart piece by piece until on planks and timbers, on cushions orphaned from once-luxurious beds, on boxes empty of food and wine we had no choice but continue, carried along the tide. With scarred hands and glazed eyes wet, cold, clinging to debris, our desperation sharpened and our endurance ossified. And we discovered in no other way could want of comfort be killed and misinformed expectation be washed from our minds. When we arrived (how many months or years the voyage!) we came ashore with nothing but gratitude. Kingly in our poverty, wise in our humility: only then were we ready to receive our promised Home
darklybrightpress.com 