I have a story about an eastern port in which I am alone,
building a great ship with four strong sails.
And you may still decide to come to me
under the sweeping flight of gulls,
to join me on my voyage out to sea.
You may find me on the very day
that my ship is ready,
my feet still on this ground I won’t return to;
I may be waiting on the docks,
right before I set my sails
to meet the old and mighty eastward wind.
But I may leave the shore alone
with the memory of your face,
which I may choose to offer to the sea.
From afar, I may see you one last time
standing on the pier
all alone, staring at the sea.