Stained Glass Pane

One day— The sea will be my backyard Every morning, standing upon the deck Of the one called Going Numb A “Greatest Dad” mug in one hand My last vice burning orange in the other I will watch the sun rise like the formidable Phoenix Warming the blue green sea with her touch As tender fingers of a salty breeze Run through my silvery hair A time worn wharf will serve as my threshold Warped planks and crusted pilings Proffering a story of victories against the storms of sea Aromas of fish and diesel oil Making promises of resilience yet seen Seagulls as nameless neighbors Charmingly silent until beckoned By day old bread and salty crackers Perched upon the strakes of the Going Numb Black eyes praising me as they wait To devour the next gratis morsel A galley will greet any wingless visitors Who happen by Barstools for three, plus me Wait obediently before the coffee-stained counter A toaster and tea kettle from yesteryear A hidden bottle of rum Is all this old man will need With but a few steps, travel with me astern Over the worn colorless carpet Past the curtain of puka shells Hung by stranger before I knew her A sturdy cot with too many pillows Serves as my nighttime rest Where the sea’s gentle waves Lull away loneliness And Adele whispers love songs to my soul Between the galley and my humble nest A room where I attempt to do my best A small writing table with pad and pencil A beige shaded lamp provides the rest Nostalgic bookshelves of cinder blocks and planks Against the portside wall A stage for those who have inspired— Hemingway, Atwood, Tolkien, and Plath King James and Lewis as bookends Hold it all together Three windows each, port and starboard To look out Or in One with an untold story I will never know Or tell A stained-glass pane Cracked and old Beauty in a way That will never be told By prose or poem or By me One day— A new chapter in my life will come Closing the pages of before My purpose complete Children grown Now with ones to call their own Having moved from a time of needing To the days of occasionally calling The old man on the sea One day— I will stand alone On the deck Of my new home With seagulls as chaperones And briny air in my lungs I will watch the sunset Through stained-glass pain