Between the lines the story tells
I hear an author’s voice distinct.
Convinced that he and I are linked
I hope to set such stirring spells.
Adventure, or a sudden loss,
Alike speak truth when men can stand
And see themselves as earth of land
And venture futures on time’s toss.
The rafts of dreamers, mad or sane,
Carried by inhuman streams,
Rivers in the sea, strong beams
Of balsa wood and bamboo cane,
Light as light and fragile, lithe,
Barely count to city minds
But when the rocks and anchor grinds
Rafts pass swift on, serene and blithe.
For those who share the water-rolls,
Split and crash through frantic swells
A floating scrap of wood impels
No certain theory, proves no wholes,
But if you have become relaxed
And let the currents rise and dip
Allowed them lift you, turn and tip
Theories convince untaxed.