To Hart Crane

Far past the golden stabs of this lighted shore
Drifts the matter of one heart, ground into pulp
By the tide’s insatiable lick. This titanic diaspora
Of remotest mind falls to climb the leaven heights
Of that long, aquatic, inviolable night.

Want to read the rest?
Please login.
New to Narrative? sign up.
It's easy and free.