The sea turned rough with me today.
I sailed with a lad of eight.
He loosed the rigging, dove overboard,
and left me drifting in his wake.
Where art thou, O little one?
Thou art radiant in thy wild grace,
Even when thou dost stumble,
When thou trippest and skinnest thy knees
Or when thy lungs spew dragon-flame.

My chest becomes a brig,
my heart its mutinous crew.
But aye–
‘tis only the ache
of becoming.

He does not yet see
the cracks in his invincibility—
or the mercy that would
mend them.
The law he fears
is love disguised.

Bold he is–
and breakable.

For thee, little one,
I lift up mine eyes to the mist-veiled sky
and search for the faithful moon
and the brightest star–
to give thee peace,
to give thee solace.

The sea sees.
And the sea agrees.

Now this boy hath found his feet–
A man among men.
His heart, a lion’s:
Full of fire,
no longer scattered–
but steered.

Young bo’sun,
Remember who thou art.
Remember the cracks in thy invincibility.
Remember what thy Maker placed within thee
to steer thy course
as thou sailest across
this vast ocean of life,
to bring thee peace,
to bring thee solace.

With all thy might,
remember, and be ready.