I lay among the half burned sticks
at the edge of the fire.
The fiend was creeping in.
I felt the cold tips of fingers—
O crimson salamander!
Give me one little flame,
that I may bind it
protectingly about the wrist
of him that flung me here,
here upon the very center!
This is my song.
Surely there, among the great docks, is
peace, my mind;
there with the ships moored in the river.
Go out, timid child,
and snuggle in among the great ships
talking so quietly.
Maybe you will even fall asleep near
them and be
lifted into one of their laps, and in the
There is always the morning in which to
remember it all!