The Last Night on Earth

To you, leaning on the rail,

Copper dusk settles along the horizon, and the white wake behind the stern draws one long line. This letter was written aboard an ocean liner, February–March 1991, on deep ocean-blue linen. The title is set in a high-contrast italic serif, every detail of the ship's railings engraved with care. There is an ivory strip of ocean-route chart, a sage-green porthole stamp, and a small musical note pressed into the corner.

Every long voyage has a last night aboard, and people speak of it as though it were the last night on Earth: everything unusually bright, everything hard to leave. A poet wrote: "Sunset and evening star, / And one clear call for me!" — Alfred, Lord Tennyson, "Crossing the Bar" (1889)

Tonight the sea wind is not cold, and somewhere on deck someone is humming. Please sit a while inside this letter. What you want to say need not be finished before dawn; the letter can keep the night for you.

With the evening star for company

Storm Post Office

February–March 1991 · At Sea