To margins, coastlines and ports
I ought to be good at embarkation.
But I am of two minds about
Simplicity, a usual goal
Of those who come to terms with foreshocks
And think to lighten their old vessel
As they prepare to face the ocean.
Spirit may yearn or think it does
For mutuality with the tides,
Friendly embassies from the sunset,
But for so long I tacked and steered
Through harbors dense with signals, buoys,
And tell-tales—proud of reading them—
I think simplicity is but style,
A look of confidence signaling back
To shore, assuring oneself as well,
That the long-practiced eye can find
The narrow roadstead unembarrassed,
Pass by the derelict hulks on the beach
And disappear on the empty sea.