Harbor road is handily lifted
A summer waiting in the sky
Foreigners crowd the landings
She tells me of the Nazi deathcamp.

Some of them the blonds feed
Me bread and safe water
And it is better than nothing.
“How you feel Joe”
She says she was born near San Reys.

Ulla’s silk and rayon shift
Repeats properly
Oceans the mind busy positioning
The operation is repeated
Many times per second
Bending down beside the groaning oars
Outside the long shed