It's time to launch now.

The strong verbs have been written down

That make the keel.

Bold words like ribs of steel,

Each rib a Saxon noun,

Curve upward in the shape the builder dreamed.

Once this launching-runway seemed

A scribble, a mad scrawl,

A skeleton that wore no flesh at all.

But now a thought

Into a 1ooming. purpose

Has been wrought.

A strand of chain

Still holds it secret in the brain, But this will part

After a taut ecstasy that ends in pain.

For now its meaning gathers weight,

Becomes articulate

For its own freeing,

Its downward slide

From shore to its intended being.