Lantern in hand, he went down to the hold. Each time he went he had a trick of trying To shut the pores of his body against the stench By force of will, by thinking of salt and flowers, But it was always useless. He kept thinking: When I get home, when I get a bath and clean food, When I’ve gone swimming out beyond the Point In that cold green, so cold it must be pure Beyond the purity of a dissolved star, When I get my shore-clothes on, and one of those shirts Out of the linen-closet that smells of lavender, Will my skin smell black even then, will my skin smell black?