Harsh, harsh, the maram grass on the salt dune,
seen by the cricket-s eye against the harbor moon,
anchor-frost and seaward, the lighthouse moon-

the bellbuoy-beating moon, the tiderip bronze
ringing above deep channels and old bones,
the hawsehole moon, where blood and money runs-

foremast and mainmast moon, up harbor still,
island and smokestack moon, and the wind-spill
falling from the sail-throat for the moon to fill-

up harbor, the old wharf moon, the capstan moon,
and round it the capstan bars, the heeling tune,
India Wharf, we'll bring you to Rio soon-

the shipyard moon, the grain-elevator moon,
derrick and gantry, and the turbine croon
sweet under seafoam as a bird in June-

red-warehouse moon, yacht-basin moon, where spars
tangle and telegraph with stays and stars-
hi ho, the queen of accordions and guitars-

ship-chandler moon, sea-boots and Wharf Street shine,
the ropewalk moon that spins in turpentine,
sail-loft invaded with a pour of silver twine-

and high! up spinning! skyscraper tipped on purple!
skyscraper moon, and high! for the stare of people-
skysign and belltower moon, moon for the steeple-

bells breaking bronze, gold, down, the scattered tinkle,
silver-bell moon, cornice and rooftop twinkle,
Christmas and graveyard moon, the tinsel sprinkle-

and dead, the stockyard moon, where blood drips down,
dead longhorn and mute snout; the barrelhouse moon,
moonmusic doubling, rigadoon, jigadoon-

so down, and down, who will be darkened soon,
red and green lights, the pallid airport moon-
ah! on the flying field, the captive balloon!

and cold; for the rim of night, the earth-s black arc,
swings up, blots out the stars, to the last spark;
while, underworld, the moon drowns dead and dark.