Await vessels,

Of magic found,
And sayings exhale,
To staunch these,
So solemn,
Cool to breath,
Saved as maps,
Incomplete,
For East is true what’s three and one,
But messages,
On a ship,
In a bottle,
In a desk,
In a house,
Surrounded in,
Claws, stars,
Known as yet sparks,
Await.

Your cat’s-hand print,
May know the West yet,
And carry notes,
Like one and three,
Veins,
Arms and hearts,
Cavernous,
As boats,
In bottles
In desks
And in them,
What is true,
For two flecks of cardboard,
Is surely the same,
For the rug,
For the blanket,
For the candle,
To keep time,
In a room nearby.

When four,
Local men,
Fight and are sweet,
To make shadows,
To catch breaks,
Know their age, 
To make eyes,
Thin from tribes,
Who count odd numbers,
Building boats,
In bottles,
Wrists strong,
From work,
Fingers one,
With balsa,
Orion,
Addition,
Direction,
Space,
As well, 

What is three and one,
But a catch,
But a call,
When I listen,
Large voices,
Far away,
Next door,
In the cupboard,
Behind the onions,
The flour and sugar,
Whey, saleratus,
Honey, vanilla,
Ask how it goes,
Those claws build
Magic boats,
Now and then,
They catch and call,
Answering in vessels,
Inside bottles,
Inside desks,
Inside houses,
Messages kept