Sometimes the night echoes to prideless wailing

Low as I hunch home late and fever-tired,

Near you not, nearing the sharer I desired,

Toward whom till now I sailed back … but that sailing

Yaws, from the cabin orders like a failing

Dribble, the stores disordered and then fired

Skid wild, the men are glaring, the mate has wired

Hopeless: Locked in, and humming, the Captain’s nailing

A false log to the lurching table. Lies

And passion sing in the cabin on the voyage home,

The burgee should fly Jolly Roger: wind

Madness like the tackle of a crane (outcries

Ascend) around to heave him from the foam

Irresponsible, since all the stars rain blind.