Some of us are delighted by their tasks,
Some have lips to smack open over food,
The ocean sprays a milk on our laps,
And the feet we stink have aborted the sea.
The moon is lush with anger of our sea,
Open to remedy is the illness we call the moon.
A howl has entered our self, the seldom spoken the better,
Offered is the prize of the sea.
A prophet has kept me all to this day,
Hold him as if a puppet, like a jumper of risk,
In the middle of relaxation I do mend
His heart that bound me to faith in God and the sea.