You whom I know,
Between whose mind and mine these currents flow
By which we keep, although apart,
A temperate climate in the haert,
You are my island's Gulf of Mexico.
And all transactions ultimately bring
Their merchandise into this port
With landfall-logs compressed, cut short
And stripped of every accidental thing.
You whom I keep
As underwriter, there to overleap
Refractive agents fixed between
The seer and the shifying scene,
Keep at me, that no sense may fall asleep.
Bombard my coast
With particles of warmth against the frost;
That into that stream all may flow,
Take on that current's grain, and so
Make, of each morsel in the mass, the most.
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