When chaos curls up
Like toes between the feedings—
And I, like calm amid a sickly storm and child
Lunge with froth-corrupted lungs too dear for air and wailing
I’m so afraid it’s won; it’s won!—

“Calm down!” you yoke
Like fishermen to waves careening
While whipping rows of bile and brittle souls believing
Not, for boisterous cries fly out upon the breeze and seize
As all the day is ending; it’s ending!—

But now then quakes the sea
So much in calm like stale nothing
Never stirred, nor capsized, nor rabid rouser seeming
Ever wise at all to do whatever fear ours was, and teeming
When light has faded; it has faded.

Curled toes fall flat now
Beneath the carpet of the moon
And on my bed the worries wake with colic
Growing in the bright and dusty staves of light
Between my dreaming— ever, ever, ever—