This poem is taken from PN Review 67, Volume 15 Number 5, May - June 1989.Whoever Finds a Horseshoe
Turned to the forest, we say:
This is a forest for timbers and ship masts,
The red tinged pines
Freed from the weight of their clump to the crown,
Should groan in the gale
Like solitary pines
Through furious deforested air;
The plumbline, fastened to the prancing deck, held in
the wind's salt step.
Loosed in their thirst for space,
Dredge fragile sextants through waterlogged furrows,
To set the rough sea surface
To the earth's embrace.
And breathing the smell
Of resinous tears, weeping through planking,
Admiring the bulkhead arrangements
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