At the shore near Kamakura, the speaker wakes not into a place but into what he calls the “homelessness of the sea.” That phrase feels less like loss than freedom: he is “glad to be no-man to-day,” released from ordinary identity and carried by the laughter and dance of wind and water. The poem is full of longing to belong to the elements — the “clan of the waters and air” — and to take sea, wind, and light into himself.
The mood is ecstatic and open, almost prayer-like. Short exclamations like “Oh, my heart of the wind and spray!” turn the landscape into a soul or companion rather than scenery. Even the final wish to gather light “against the blackest night” keeps that bright, protective energy. It reads as a moment of joyful surrender to something vast and living.