Who seals the ear sets free the eye.
No light we cannot enter by.
Green on the starboard, red to port,
The sea’s directions pay you court.
They are the poles of your content;
And where you go and where you went
Divide you, who will not regain,
Unmarked, the certain course. One chain
Will rankle always on your wrist,
Along your spine be scored the mast.
Though, while you watch, the emerald
Phosphors and is a plural world,
Your former, deep and garnet, edges
Primally the wake’s long wedge.
Choose: simple hearth you knew before;
Dexterous brass on a verdant shore.
All vision passes, and the choice.
Thereafter, will the wax have voice?
Advise you, “Let the graphic fire
Draw on the wall your whole desire”
Night free of envy, free of sight;
And in the mornings, (shape, not light)
Your sinister, domestic fate:
Home’s still warm ash that fits the grate.