Tuesday, 27 December 2011

to the harbormaster

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. 

To the Harbormaster by Frank O'Hara

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