And Be Whole

Place, there is none, but there are
Joints in all the days and waves

That work like points, each a pause,
A trough, a gap of not much.

The trick is to sink in those,
To find a good one, deep one,

Frost’s dent in dough, not quite closed,
And curl up in it, as if

It meant its shape to hold you.
I’m not there yet. I’m not lost

As I need to be, still tossed
In the waves like a toy boat,

Not sunk. The woods are a sea,
You see? That’s why ships sail them.

There’s gold on the floor of them.
Not coins. Don’t count. Just catch them.