Piracy! The very name is fantastic in my ears, colored
like a toucan in the zoo.
And yet the ordinance is clear: "Four armed guards,
strong metal grills behind the bridge, the engine-room
enclosed--in case of piracy."

The socks of the sentry are green.
Up and down, up and down he paces, between the
bridge and the first of the life-boats.
In my deck chair I grow restless.

Am I then so far removed from life, so wrapped in
cotton wool, so deep-sunk in the soft lap of civilization,
that I cannot feel the cold splash of truth?
It is a disquieting thought--for certainly piracy seems
as fantastic as ever.

The socks of the sentry annoy me. They are _too_
green for so hot a day.
And his shoes squeak.
I should feel much cooler if he wouldn't pace so.
Piracy!

Somewhere on the River


The Altar of Heaven

Beneath the leaning, rain-washed sky this great white
circle--beautiful!