Roses made me when

Days were longest

On the curling vine

By the red rivers

Where the soul stands

To breathe the light of night.



When oysters shuck their shells

The bones of fishermen

Come to crawl the beaches

Below the round mountains

Srawling in the mist.



There in the spindrifts

Snow on the ocean

In the steepsided waves

Comes the delivering winds

In the morningside of the dying sound.



Looking under loose broken stones

By the beached and broken thimbers

Ships with no names on them

The clapper with no bell

The buried shadows of sailors.



In the Zones all is plentiful

The razory far-off horizons

Slicing the eyes of crying lovers

Why a baby now?

.....