Where the three magenta <br />Breakwaters take the shove <br />And suck of the grey sea <br /> <br />To the left, and the wave <br />Unfists against the dun <br />Barb-wired headland of <br /> <br />The Deer Island prison <br />With its trim piggeries, <br />Hen huts and cattle green <br /> <br />To the right, and March ice <br />Glazes the rock pools yet, <br />Snuff-colored sand cliffs rise <br /> <br />Over a great stone spit <br />Bared by each falling tide, <br />And you, across those white <br /> <br />Stones, strode out in you dead <br />Black coat, black shoes, and your <br />Black hair till there you stood, <br /> <br />Fixed vortex on the far <br />Tip, riveting stones, air, <br />All of it, together.<br /><br />Sylvia Plath<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/man-in-black/
