The Captain’s Dream: A Poem For Edge—By PJ

Game Face (watercolor, manipulated at Photomosh.com) by Kelly Eddington, 2018. Based on a reference photo by Remy.

The Captain’s Dream: A Poem For Edge

PJ DeGenaro

Well, this is another poem for Edge. I don’t want to over-explain it. Due to recent events, I was thinking about the “business” of music versus music itself, and where music comes from. It should be obvious that I don’t know anything about boats.

The Captain’s Dream 

The moon was rising as I walked away.

I left them there: left my name on the contracts,

Left my champagne untouched.

I smiled till my teeth ached,

Let them pump my hand and slap my back,

Let their tired jokes ring in my ears.

“Happy birthday,” they said, as I turned to go. 

“Your sun-sign is a fire-sign, but you’re just so cool. 

What’s your moon-sign, man?”

I don’t know. I suppose I must have one. 

But I don’t think the moon is involved in this.

The moon doesn’t need to put on airs.

A scatter of light on black water is enough.

In the marina carpark, the tar gripped my soles, 

And I opened wide to receive the breath 

Of the August sea, oily and hot.

I started my engine, eased out of the slip,

Let the briny breeze cool my bare head. 

I seemed to know, as you do in dreams, 

Of a place in the sea’s deepest trench

Where the melodies hide,

Darting in and out of corals and caves, 

Translucent and elusive, electric and lithe.

I heard you say, “Cast your net on the right side of the ship, 

And ye shall find.” You laughed; we both laughed. 

You weren’t really there, but I did as you said.

I leaned out over the gunwale and let the net spread.

The boat sped through the sea; I sped with it. 

My balance was perfect. I could feel the net filling, 

Growing wet and heavy with song.

When I tried to haul it in, the black sea rose to meet me,

Pulled me down like a lover, and wouldn’t let go.

You held on from the other side, your two hands

On my shirttail, tugging hard with all the warmth

And gravity of the earth. I fell back at last

Against the wheelhouse, gasping.

“Steady on, the net is full. 

You will always have enough.”

I turned to find you, but you weren’t there.

On the deck, my net glowed like I’d been dredging the stars,

And the masts and the rigging, bridge, bow and stern

Were dancing with light.