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Anthology of Massachusetts Poets

HOME-BOUND

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The moon is a wavering rim where one fish slips, The water makes a quietness of sound; Night is an anchoring of many ships Home-bound. There are strange tunnelers in the dark, and whirs Of wings that die, and hairy spiders spin The silence into nets, and tenanters Move softly in. I step on shadows riding through the grass, And feel the night lean cool against my face; And challenged by the sentinel of space, I pass.

JOSEPH AUSLANDER

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