Sailor

Thin, afraid
I slept a hole into my own hunger.
What matters is to be
tender like the language crooned to babies.
And I proceeded like a polar explorer,
to cast a line and wait at the luminous shore.
Did they remember back
and dream
the sweet meat of the mango?
So much depends
Upon
so remote a thing.
And, nothing himself, beholds
nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.