Miscalculation

 

When we came back in the small hours of the dawn

With first light growing slowly in the tiny leaves,

I thought you had consented.

 

But over the coffee cups I saw

That you had plucked me like a stick of wood

Out of the foaming water

And had dragged me to dry ground.

 

And though I regretted your decision

I was grateful for the firm earth under my feet.

 

Winter, 1958

Revised March 29, 1996