Wednesday, July 20, 2011

1855: Moby Dick Chapter XXXV

Our Stand at the Mast Head

We fish away from the mangroves,
staring out, praying for bites.
We know to keep weather eyes open.
But I think of forms I loved.
There on the dock we stand,
casting for dreams on our lines.
But I dream of pantheism,
not of fish far removed.

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