As I went down the road to the water, the river to the sea,
the valley narrowed to a cat’s-eye jewel,
one middle streak of highlight straightening;
and nothing was plain in the river-light,
not even what I was hurrying for
as I walked and thought
At the waterfront they are free.

As I went down past the low barren orchards hanging in the dark
(They are free at the waterfront),
I heard the night-bird answer :“The trees suffered too much,
“now they are sterile; but in your city
“the ghosts of houses struggle to put down roots,
“and in the rooms, they have nightmares of freedom,
“they are jealous of any fruit.”

As I crossed over Gravelly Run*, I looked into the water
(They are free at the waterfront),
not one cloud whitening the brown black water,
but there I saw my face so bare
not blemished but unlit,
I thought, if I am not almost free
there’s an end of wit.

As I came toward the sea, I saw the marks of night
walk on and over the sky and night went over
without a sound on the wide water
but the sea’s sound and the windspin
talking to ships slave under the sea
and on the sea obsessed with tide
as the long tides came in.

*A name for a Civil War battle fought in 1865. Though in some ways a 
momentary victory for the Confederacy, it signaled the coming end for the South.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battle_of_White_Oak_Road