The chosen

Tonight I could not sleep.
Tomorrow we drive back home
And leave the rumbling of the surf
On the beach behind us.
Tonight my eyes were drawn to the horizon,
As far as I could discern it
Through the deep purple of two thirty in the morning,
And there I could see a bright, distant light
Cutting strongly through the darkness,
Showing the position of a fishing boat
Plying its midnight trade
On the rolling waters of the Gulf of Mexico.
And the light drew my interest
And caused me to take leave of my bed
And step out on the lonely balcony.
To feel the ocean breeze
Flowing across my face
And smell the sea's raw perfume
Rising up from the beach
And take note of the awesome host
Of stars thrown across the firmament of the skies.

And I wondered what those mariners were thinking
As they reached into the depths of the ocean
To pull their livelihood from its bounty:
Did they take nautical notice of the starlight above them
And chart their position
To find their pathway back home?
Did their hearts get caught, like mine,
In their throats from the beauty
Of the starlight strewn across the blackness of the heavens?
Or did their ability to discern the light above them
Become entwined with the nets they cast
Into the darkness washing beneath them,
Their hopes tethered by their concern
For the fishes swimming below?

How much better, in my sleeplessness,
That I could sit out on that wooden chair
And consider the brightness and depth of those stars
And the vastness of the heavens above us
And take note of the simple differences of position
Lying between myself and my brothers
And the distant heavens
That caught us up in the arms of the cool Winter's night.