Sails furled at the calm water bay,
drifting toward port as ghosts of long summer
spent on seas with a will set to break us...
This house is warm with the scent of fire
Voices talk of yesterday in matchstick glow
And breathe out a thousand songs of tomorrow...
Seldom lies the traveller in this place of shade
Away from the road, concrete ocean he sails
Today there are no ships—they wait in harbor
So here he lies beneath a canopy...