Fins

Plow over bars of sea plowing,

the moon by moon work of the sea,

the plowing, sand and rock, must

be done.

Ride over, ride over bars of sea riding,

the sun and the blue riding of the sea—

sit in the saddles and say it, sea riders.

Slant up and go, silver breakers; mix

the high howls of your dancing; shoot

your laugh of rainbow foam tops.

Foam wings, fly; pick the comers, the fin pink,

the belly green, the blue rain sparks, the

white wave spit—fly, you foam wings.

The men of the sea are gone to work; the women

of the sea are off buying new hats, combs, clocks;

it is rust and gold on the roofs of the sea.