poetry poem

rocked in the cradle of the deep
at dawn, he said
the pale day drowses on the western steep
do you hear the rain?
where shall i find you
the single clenched fist lifted and ready
love me at last, or if you will not
with her hair flaying wildly
which keeps
i bid them all farewell
a poet, having taken the bridle off his tongue
see the tentative
the ships are lying in the bay