BERTH

You are a harbor of great girth—
I have laid my murmurous timbers
beside you; the warm
warped oak of the quay
is the sure flesh astride
my hull.

I have bucked
in bitter waters these long months
and sucked of foreign spice—
but the hot smell of your meats
yet stalks the mess.

The sirocco funnels me
toward you—I am implacable.
I have but
to charge across
this churlish air.