Moonlight

I once knew a man with moonlight in his eyes.

He sat on the bench on top of a hillock behind my house.
Where I grew up in rooms furnished like cabins on ocean liners.
At night I dreamed I was the captain of one of them. 
Wearing a double-breasted coat with brass buttons and
a hat with an anchor on its front. 
Stirring a polished mahogany wheel all through the starry nights
full of winds, waves and salt.
The sun dried the salt and left only a powdery-white circle around my mouth.
I asked the man – why do you have moonlight in your eyes?
To watch ships, he said. Long, white ships 
sailing the oceans through the starry nights,
full of winds, waves and salt.
He said nothing else.