Shearwater

The way is to climb.
The way is to lie still
and let the moon do its work on your body.
And then to rise
through forests and oceans of lives.
And through the way of the black rocks, splitting, wide,
and flow ten thousand miles.
Well, I've had enough,
wasting my body, my life.
I'll come away, come away from the shallows.
But can this sullen child,
as bound as the ox that I ride,
climb to the heart of the white wind, singing, high,
and blow my frozen eyes?