At the Helm

Beneath an endless midnight set alone
There looms a helmsman at a lonely wheel;
Aloofness works into his very bone
While down the sky the constellations steal;
His fellows sleep; the sails reach, starry-still,
Complete with steady wind; the whispering sea
Wakes silence larger than itself can be:
Nor is it but a mortal ship he's sailing.…
Before the dawn begins with heaven's paling
Somehow the helmsman knows Another's Will,
Somehow perceives a cargo that's consigned
To no known port with mortal wharfage lined:
He sunders stars; he cleaves infinity,
And turns the helm unto a Port Unknown.
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