Capernaum —The disciples went out and got into a boat, but all night they caught nothing. John 21:3 by Dan Behrens Seaside village, Capernaum, With her growing garrison Of Herodian troops, Eclectic Commercialites And native fishermen, An agrarian trade post Along the way of the Sea, Or the Samaritan’s pilgrimage Toward Mount Gerizim. Then there are her streets And all her Galilean children— A James, a John, Thomas And the custom’s chief, The house of Peter— and at least one other, Brothers, turn to her boats Like their fathers did At daybreak, and push out Away from all the shores That crush them. Their rigging Pitched portside, their tears Netting nothing but silence And a splash of stars Hardly hanging on overhead. These few small boats Drifting into the arc Of some forgotten story. All her forgotten stories Of feasts and family, Of sabbath prayers and miracles, Her screaming crowds, Her silent sufferer—Jesus. Capernaum, so light and lost Among the nations, a lonely lamb At the edge of the earth, Or the sea rather, or perhaps Even those distant hills Where the swine fell Just beyond your reach. Or like when our sweet Saint Peter fell at the sight of waves, His one wild step Into everlasting life, Cut free— for one mere moment at least— From all these boats We so eagerly turn to.