View . Ships fastened to water, A long line of ships this hot Afternoon, stand like homes Abandoned for the day. There are things not in the picture: The tower with its roof askew, A drowned garland. The ships came with the view.
A mill rots, a freighter pulls Away. Hills rise Straight out of Africa; a mandolin sounds. Palms along the coast become A line of leaves above a door, Withered long past welcome. The sea a massive bolt, shot across.