HOME-BOUNDThe moon is a wavering rim where one fish slips,The water makes a quietness of sound;Night is an anchoring of many shipsHome-bound.There are strange tunnelers in the dark, and whirsOf wings that die, and hairy spiders spinThe silence into nets, and tenantersMove 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
The moon is a wavering rim where one fish slips,The water makes a quietness of sound;Night is an anchoring of many shipsHome-bound.There are strange tunnelers in the dark, and whirsOf wings that die, and hairy spiders spinThe silence into nets, and tenantersMove 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