An Athiest's Dream

I have been asked to explain the title... It is hard to believe in a god when the men who love the sea so much are taken away by the dozens.



Under the bridge the fishing boats queue
Nets folded, they head out to sea,
The orphaned sons of past fisherman,
Lose sight of the harbor, and me.

The light on their masts will signal
Locations they are fishing for cod.
Three days at a time they go missing,
Their return, is a favor of God.

I drink on the fourth night with Caleb,
Carpel tunneled, he lifts his gin…
We laughingly make plans for next week,
Knowing the ocean, guarantees no again.

Bruised knuckles and barnacled fingers,
Build houses while tied to the dock…
Their families’ homes share two features,
A view and a full widow’s walk.

Like so many a young man in Newport,
Who fell in love in the bar on the dock…
He’s remembered for all his fresh flowers,
Beneath his name on Memorial Rock.