So Heart counts the ships at sea / in order to raise his thoughts above matters of flesh / often Heart is comforted by the waves' regulation, the distant line of watery horizon, and the air with its mixed aspects of seafood, salt and sweat / but here at the harbor, as it bends and blends to the sands, Heart is simple and closer to the sea's soothing sway and resultant philosophical reflection than on a city street / lolling and frolicking nymphs, pink flesh, and half-bared breasts and chests, consumed in vision and so in desperation Heart counts the ships at sea - sailboat, sailboat - in hopes she'll be restored to calm / in these motioned waters, Heart's having a picnic, even though its storming / What makes of further seas / if there's water in Europe for me / it's the cool, dark pond at balmy twilight / Where a child kneels swelled with distance and imagination, launching / a frail boat like a butterfly in May. . .