The living wind and reason can Give us cause to belong to water Floundering in waves waiting for persuasion We can be seen, our poor names Written in tonight’s harbor.
What sum increases the rain? Or will we be happy in this rogue’s game Of charmed but stolen harvest? The unknowing prophet Delivers us our breath but uses it To start fires in our reason. Where we hanker for this hot sport I hear the old telling tongue And pierce the sore belly of truth To warm myself alongside its issue.