Removing my watch, pleased with the morning weather,
I dove—I would cross the Atlantic by myself Neither she,
        Nor I, nor Brooklyn minded.

Still so near: I must swim harder. This striving
(On love's anniversary she had turned to mud in my bed)
        For distance and brave attitude
        Corrupted the serene wishlessness.

To be loved!—eyes dying, the reflection reflected...
It is true that for a little time peremptory shrewdness.
        With no thought of "satin" or of arriving.
        Became the querying solitude:

"While the citizens shudder and gasp, and embrace their dead"
 —Petulantly I uttered a melancholy on the sea's graves.
        A gull passes—rude
        And abstract, limbs fatten.

With no gift to beguile, I must exhaust them or me.
No later than thirty kicks, perhaps in the diving.
        All distance had fled;
        The anticipation of violent liberty

Accompanied my cold strokes with lonely fitness,
Winsome with particularity. A gulp of saltwater crudely
        Shakes the jittery contriving.
        I floated in the shadow of waves:

Behind, past the harbor scurry, was smugly ambitious Manhattan;
Love, imagination and power are explorable seas.
        I began talking to my knees.
        Unkindly scissoring towards a kind

Of emotions: "My thing wept at me. Every while it flattened,
Except for unpleasant uncertainties." The noon shined.
        I am forbidden to desire some haven;
        The sky and whitecaps are mine;

The darkness smites with iron the iron sea
And the limestone of sunset, sediment of lonely intimacies,
        Extending its lidded periphery.
        Where are eyes for new witness?

Have I worn out my distracting powers to doze witless
Into the scape of night, empty of detail and excuse,
        To be chosen and not choose, 
        Hoping for a curable disease?

I came to an island of stone sensual clarity.
Serious and wet; and purely their teeth were feathers
        Sifting gently ooze.
        In dusk air, rods

of veined alloy, pliant structures, nodded.
On buttery skin, between earlobes and finger webs, were inscribed
        Gray lips and hair.
        I learned to sleep undreaming,

They took me with calm fingers, I danced their yearning games
To each kissing other, tenderly, among brushed replies.
        Yellow, murmuring, the tribe
        Diverted its tear like eyes

Of blown opal, their plastic integuments ripening
As accorded to sunken shafts—mandibles, bags,
        Musical smiles and screams.
        Blooms bent like flags,

Voluptuous announcements. Each year I asked, *'Is tbere
None, out of glory or doubt, w^ho cast easy
        Paradise for the zooming periods
        Of knowledge passionately used.

The moment taken and transformed ?"—"What you describe
Is Epilepsy, visionary folly and bait of the gods;
        Some climbed those crags
        Of orange accident where streamers

Ravel in brilliance, to sup the intoxication of air;
Blindly the divine nets gathered the dreamers.
        Forlorn, forgotten refuse
        Of our drowned and golden lair."

The darkness smites with iron the iron sea
And the limestone of sunset, sediment of lonely intimacies,
        Extending its lidded periphery
        Where are no eyes to witness.

I sit in Brooklyn, in an evening grave with names
And money. Gulls settle, and musics declare
        The inexorable night together.