For all that

Naked, the sea bulges, ugly and ancient,
waiting
for nothing,
least of all for you
and for whatever, on seeing it, you might like
to suck as honey from your fingers.
It doesn’t care a fart
whether, in rapt contemplation,
you hit upon a metre of your own accord
or, dumbstruck,
long for the next sunrise

: The old sea and the man :

For all that, there you sit
staring at the lapping wave,
listening to its last-gasp heave,
and wait for a morrow
that you never before
even dared to imagine