Sea fog rubs its back upon my window-panes,
Salt in places, hindering tide,
Push waves, push waves tranquil on a shore;
Sea birds arranged in sections of sky.
Suppose a row, a seaweed neck, no fishing
No fishing with another hook;
Jackfish, Jackfish in a yard of sea,
Twos, twos into a net; put a stove, put a stove.
If I were surely, the sea wind said, something soon
Someday; whitecaps, whitecaps what is a storm.
Wet spoil gaiters and swells and little canvas
Or ready gray lining, curls, curls.
I settle a stretch, sea at the till; sail or rustle
Mourn in a morning. A high beach and a
Perfect sight, a blow is delighted; put an anchor down.
Put something down someday in my sand.
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