Navigator

In the darkest times
I think of lighthouses
the way I used to think
of saints, hope of sailors, vagabonds--
a thin beam offering no map
but a chance of rescue standing
on the brink of some solid place--
away from the seducing sea
that draws us to our death.
I think of Brendan and I say

Saint Brendan in these times
Oh, Broen- Finn, Fair-drop
pupil of Jarlath and Finnian,
star of Kaleedy at the Munster:
have mercy on us.

Your boat of friars,
sixteen adrift in a whirling sea,
in a basket to Eden,
sixteen against the wind.
armored with the wish
to see Kerry and the coast again.
Scourge of demons
sea dragons and despair,
admiral lord of the Irish sea
pray for us.

This journey of ours is little,
and there are horns and bells
and beams of light
to bring us in. We are not you.
We do not have
your faith or your geography
but we are navigators, too.