Think Of The Long Trip

What The Man-moth Fears Most He Must Do.

I Caught A Tremendous Fish And Held Him Beside The Boat Half Out Of Water, With My Hook Fast In A Corner Of His Mouth. He Didn't Fight. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . I Stared And Stared And Victory Filled Up The Little Rented Boat From The Pool Of Bilge Where Oil Had Spread A Rainbow Around The Rusted Engine To The Bailer Rusted Orange, The Sun-cracked Thwarts The Oarlocks On Their Strings, The Gunnels-until Everything Was Rainbow, Rainbow, Rainbow! And I Let The Fish Go.

And As To Experience-well, Think How Little Some Good Poets Have Had, Or How Much Some Bad Ones Have.

Ports Are Necessities, Like Postage Stamps Or Soap, But They Seldom Seem To Care What Impressions They Make.

Think Of The Long Trip Home. Should We Have Stayed Home And Thought Of Here? Where Should We Be Today?