A ship rocks steadily in the night,
cutting through the sea,
reaching home.

A brass key hangs from a chain in
the Master's quarters.

The key swings in counterpoint to the rocking of the ship.
Back and forth it sways, keeping time with the swells.
But the key only seems to move;
The ship
the ship rocks around it.
The key is plumb for the ocean's clock.

The ship and her men are rocking but the key
the key
hangs still in space --
relative only to the sea.

The North Atlantic tosses her passengers --
the men who make a winter cross --
to remind them who is
Pilot,
who is
Master,
who is,
Keeper,

and who holds the keys.