I started with Joanne’s link to O’Hara, and re-read “The Day Lady Died”, and then randomly looked at all the poems whose first line begin with M and found Pound’s translation of “The Seafarer”. And realized that I wanted to riff on it. So I began:

I sing for myself               words of my own making
to ride out rough times               in rough seas.
The chop and calm               become the same,
the current carries               pain and pleasure
equally away               and equally as fast.

but I am much too tired to keep it up. I want to come back to this one. (This makes the third poem I have swirling that is a translation of an existing poem, all in languages I do not speak.)