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