In paradise I poised my foot above the boat and said:
Who prayed for me?
But only the dip of an oar
In water sounded: slowly fog from some cold shore
Circled in wreaths around my head.
But who is waiting?
And the wind began,
Transfiguring my face from nothingness
To tiny weeping eyes. And when my voice
Grew real, there was a place
Far, far below on earth. There was a tiny man--
It was my father wandering round the waters at the wharf.
Irritably he circled and he called
Out to the marine currents up and down,
But heard only a cold unmeaning cough,
And saw the oarsman in the mist enshawled.
He drew me from the boat. I was asleep.
And we went home together.