Original (inglés)

HOME-BOUND The moon is a wavering rim where one fish slips, The water makes a quietness of sound; Night is an anchoring of many ships Home-bound. There are strange tunnelers in the dark, and whirs Of wings that die, and hairy spiders spin The silence into nets, and tenanters Move softly in. I step on shadows riding through the grass, And feel the night lean cool against my face; And challenged by the sentinel of space, I pass. JOSEPH AUSLANDER