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.