Thursday, October 1, 2015


Why shall they rock in the water, these
boats? The slow confluence of tide and
wind make for the rise of the moving surface,
and I notice, and love it so. To my back, the
dim city sits in its own sulphurous fog  -
things barely seen and outlined. Out front,
the wet highway bounds to lands unseen.
Huge freighters and tankers run by with
their feelings of heavy and doubt. The water
holds what it cannot sink. 'We've been at sea 
now for three months, I think,' the sailor would
say. On board these ships, I can see nothing;
maybe a crane or a hatch, no people. The strange
and commanding devices of steering and lift, they're
all electronic now. The crew goes about, by contrast,
as if like a house-maid with a dusting cloth. 
And then, and then, I throw my spirit out  -  to them I
scream : 'Take me! Dissolve too my heart and lungs in
your salted waters and never bring me home. I scan, 
and gaze, and wait, and wish to go. 

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