A galleon sighted off the coast, Its masts roiling in the wind, Is soon driven to a stonewalled shore.

Beached I, Robinson, watch You among the wrecking crowd Gathered to flense it to its bones.

You are alone in the wheelhouse, Hunched with intent, unscrewing Its compass off the gimbal.

I leave others, laughing, around those more Valuable cargoes of calico, egg powder, Grand pianos, rubber boots all in size 9,

And follow you, black haired savage Beauty, hauling away that dialed glass box,
The sudden keeper of north, my north.

May God us keep From Single Vision and Newton’s sleep ~ William Blake

Bent over with your double vision Of muscle and glass, you watch me Shuffle on the rippled surface Of water, without (in the pond) And within (your eyes).

Thus kept from drowning, from sleep,
I manacle myself with the word To your constant gaze, the end of all vision, And become a strider, a water walker, Crossing into your lit shade.

In the open maw of memory Where things stand, blurred by rain, The glare of sun, and the glaze Of retrieval, we sit, retelling Stories (which we have told To others, some of whom were Only us, masked and changed By time) as if knowing what lies Behind us will tell us something Of what lies beyond, as if the triumphs And betrayals of sex and love read Right would enable us to divine, From the tarot cards laid on day's table, The true weight of the body And the weightlessness of love.