While Captain James T. Kirk
Explored the far reaches of space,
Promoting the best of secular humanism
Or rescuing extraterrestrial civilizations
Or saving life on earth
Or flirting with every shapely humanoid,
His wife, Penelope, waited at home
Weaving the shroud by day
Only to unravel it each night,
Waiting in sorrowful hope.
Or was that someone else’s wife?
No, she was also Captain Kirk’s wife.
And she belongs to you and me
Just as much as to Odysseus.
A velvet black cosmos
That reflects our own wine-dark sea within.
It is in that inner domain that we encounter
And reptilian warriors.
We learn that the eye is not always trustworthy,
And we see how human wit
Can unravel any Empire’s fearful grip.
It is there that we find the earthly beauty
Of a high school sweetheart,
And can see the bleached bones
Of those who followed
The tantalizing songs
Of another realm.
Look as far back into myth as you can,
Gaze as far ahead in imagination as you dare.
There is a corresponding depth within.
Is a day spent
Somewhere between sailing the oceans of mythical grandeur
And weaving our mortal garment at home.