I wanted to be sure to reach you;



though my ship was on the way it got caught



in some moorings. I am always tying up



and then deciding to depart. In storms and



at sunset, with the metallic coils of the tide



around my fathomless arms, I am unable



to understand the forms of my vanity



or I am hard alee with my Polish rudder



in my hand and the sun sinking. To



you I offer my hull and the tattered cordage



of my will. The terrible channels where



the wind drives me against the brown lips



of the reeds are not all behind me. Yet



I trust the sanity of my vessel; and



if it sinks, it may well be in answer



to the reasoning of the eternal voices,



the waves which have kept me from reaching you.





