No Geography
Captain, I write to tell you God has left
This land to us. All saved, save
Two we lost to scalping, one to self-
Inflicted shot. My men rest. It is just
As you said, Sir: seas of yellow flower,
Wind roaring in the throat. A savage-
Less quiet of the heart, I say, though I could not
Do without your map in this wood:
Crude pine for kindling, and bees festered
In the clover, as if the insect were
Anything but pulled half-drunk
To the juice. The moon to find us, fading
West. Some thing torn alive every night.
Sir, send our provision: salt, flour
Whisky for dryness. Paring knives and
A woolen dress. We kept a girl for meals.
