Lowry, Malcolm: The ship is turning homeward

The ship is turning homeward now at last.

The bosun tries to read but dreams of home.

The old lamptrimmer sleeps, the engine thrums:

Home. Lamps are set to light us from the past

To a near future unmysterious as this mast,

Whose bulk we recognize and finite aim.

Patient iron! But, beyond the maintruck, dumb

Blankness, or the twitch of reeling stars cast

Adrift in a white ocean of doubt.

Perhaps this tramp rolls toward a futurity

That broods on ocean less than on the gall

In seamen’s minds. Is that star wormwood out

Among love’s stars? This freighter eternity?

Where are we going? Life save us all.