Their eyes go out on stalks like crabs to the closet;
Sipping their tea they uncoil a précis,
Rumours of shame, malfeasance, bizarre ills
Among the invisible family choir. They covet
Each out-turned glance, all hawsers loaned to land
As I move slowly waterward; they shock
And simper, crouching ringed upon the deck
Rattling the bony dice of tribal fate.
It is time, you jackanapes crew! The moon lets down
The shelled gold of her wake on the river ahead.
It is time to unpilot you; we shall not be late.
Relatives
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