How distant, the departure of young men Down valleys, or watching The green shore past the salt-white cordage Rising and falling.
Cattlemen, or carpenters, or keen Simply to get away From married villages before morning, Melodeons play
On tiny decks past fraying cliffs of water Or late at night Sweet under the differently-swung stars, When the chance sight
Of a girl doing her laundry in the steerage Ramifies endlessly. This is being young, Assumption of the startled century
Like new store clothes, The huge decisions printed out by feet Inventing where they tread, The random windows conjuring a street.