A broad place.
I find hope and a hasty thorn
according to custom.
A prince and all his nobles
look over my papers
in my mind.
The state stands for fear
for my pictures
my buying.
my old friend
my old acquaintance
my strange table
the sea
is white as ice
Captain Cock
is an able man
but his gifts are little—all talk—
and he continues to be afraid
of the holster.
In bed, swelling,
I measure a little fear,
observe exactly
the custom of
the mind at night.
I am the traveler,
what I drink, I know not—
a fox all night in fear
of being perceived.
Done with captain and lighthouse,
I am a hook.
I once knew a fish, a scholar
at the pint, who gave out “fen”
as a home for fear
of the power of the sea.
To the office. I advise
about hanging the poor.
I miss the army—
robbing, laying out fear,
breaking the world.
I examine my head and find a closet:
a boy’s clothes,
mischief and a candle,
a great fear.
If that itch my fear would die,
I could have a fine dinner,
put my papers in order,
lie carelessly
with my wife
and walk in the garden.
I find the worst fears.
I shuffle out to the yard
with my dish and cup
and speak to the sun
like a clock
or a bare window.
A great knocking in me
and I am down, I am wood.
Hopes have to be settled on shore,
but the water being almost
at low water, fear is sure.
I urge the surgeon on,
my heart heavy for not hearing my heart.
Things against my going:
the rain, a great deal of paper,
the wind in the marsh. Oy.
I chose the saddest color
for a melancholy mother
and had a fear I should see
my house full of swords.