Wine at East Bank tonight, I sobered up
then started over, getting drunk again.
Got home, a little fuzzy maybe close to three,
and the houseboy was snoring like thunder.
I knocked at my own gate, and nobody answered,
leaned on my cane and listened to the River running.
I hate it! that even this body’s not mine alone. . .
Someday I’ll give it all up.
The night moves, the breeze writes
quiet in the ripples on the water.
A little boat, leaving here and now,
the rest of my life, on the river, on the sea.
translated by J.P. Seaton
Leonard Durso 
Pretty nice choice to start my morning. Thanks, Leonard.
You’re welcome, John. Hope you woke to rain today.
love those last lines: ‘A little boat leaving here and now, the rest of my life, on the river, on the sea.’ They pull me in…
Yes, I love those last lines, too. That desire for personal peace is so universal. We all seek that in our own way, I think.