trouble

I lean over
To pick up my droppt keys
And the night's imagery
Comes awashing over me,
Faint runs
Down chalked playgrounds
Or camping by simple tombstones
In breezy May:
Then I recognized
What trouble I'm in,
Somewhere on the high seas
Sans paddle or compass
Knowing that numbered are my days-
Yet charmed unspeakably!
By saffron morningtime
Streaking the eastern
Ramparts