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.