HART CRANE'S VOYAGE

When dawn
by the Gulf breath
tames its waves
bodies fall from skies
you salt their graves

With veils of words
as sad mourning clouds
capturing the names
of hunters and fishers
in pale swan shrouds,

Weep to save a lost bird
in troubled rain
from the bridge's crowds
by a sail's yawn,
keep us, Hart Crane
in unbowed knowledge
from the faults of death.