O journeyer, deaf in the mould, insane
With violent travel & death: consider me
In my cast, your first son.
Would you were I by now another one,
Witted, legged? I see you before me plain
(I am skilled: I hear, I see)â€”
Your honour was troubled: when you wonderedâ€”‘No’.
I hear. I think I hear. Now full craze down
Across our continent
All storms since you gave in, on my pup-tent.
I have of blast & counter to remercy you
For hurling me downtown.
We dream of honour, and we get along.
Fate winged me, in the person of a cab
And your stance on the sand.
Think it across, in freezing wind: withstand
My blistered wish: flop, there, to his blind song
Who pick up the tab.