"SALT WATERS WASH THE OVAL FISH..."
Salt waters wash the oval fish, and flash
in steamer's wake a week from your lover's look;
the smoky cape and the sea's deep stirring keep
active the ecstasy, open the lack.
Now the old world, the wold, and all you willed,
the merchants, marchers, and the veiled searchers,
are the regrets of sunsets, crumbling sites
leased to the lost dog and the lists of teachers.
In curving scope of scooped waves, towards escape,
such lonely men take meaning for a moon;
under the pale mast sailing they shall feel
the sun and the unseen - and oh how soon!