I am a sundial, and I make a botch Of what is done much better bya watch.
A brackish reach of shoal off Madaket--The sea was still breaking violently and nightHad steamed into our North Atlantic Fleet,When the drowned sailor clutched the drag-net. LightFlashed from his matted head and marble feet,He grappled at the netWith the coiled, hurdling muscles of his thighs:The corpse was bloodless, a botch of reds and whites,Its open, staring eyesWere lustreless dead-lightsOr cabin-windows on a stranded hulkHeavy with sand.robert lowell
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