The craft I left in was called Esau

The craft I left in was called Esau,
at least that name was scratched on the smooth door
I went in by. Someone said the engineers
gave them all names, I don’t know. The stars
outside were what I noticed first; they looked
so incongruously normal. People joked
nervously; just like a plane flight.
They found seats, wondered if bags would fit,
gestured at the stars and told each other:
‘Be seeing those in close-up soon’. No bother,
no big deal. I can’t recall feeling sad,
not then. I think I was too interested
in the achievement, the technicalities.
And when we took off, there were the night skies
ahead; still, so still, a new ocean.
It seemed natural to look for an horizon,
as a captain would look where he was bound,
not back to port. Then the ship turned,
just slightly, and there was our long bright wake
already closing, and we looked back
along it to where you could still trace
charted coastlines on the bluish mass,
quite small really; uncanny with distance,
our late guesthouse; our inheritance.