Off to the printer
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZXKDVQNxk69VgBNSFVM41BboEgqB_eZ_tfojEQVIfc-bVfIpOY6t2BrmmszhYvITEZ_ED55-7nnkFGYn3MU3X467MvGO8HPoWJz-8HySu6ep_xH5EimApGGSPDSMoe_Fd8cbDgeys7LU/s400/greene1.jpg)
I did the sketch quite a while back.
The photo comes from a travel site I found on the web by Gemeah Howarth-Hockey
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirhD6_2DdwiuF-cZD-vDae4kAjVDyKUmkH1Hou7M3o788FPA6-BAGqTU_6bDBEpKYEpYHb5LTYrtoUhdIPZji8aZ8x4pqp1cGmZATU21Xl4q0vAy3hiRenJWSRKHthENDbBh9kt4oNo4E/s200/europe.1134278160.floating_coffin.jpg)
Boxing the compass refers to the ability to memorize all 32 points on a compass. It also refers to the action of a rudderless boat which will eventually rotate in a full circle hitting all the points on a compass. The title poem deals with a father on his death bed. The boat on the cover has a coffin shape which I thought was perfect.
So I wait with you in a crowded dark
where ageing men must revive or perish,
and wonder, my father, what under morphine
your dreams are? The old man on his ship’s deck
and you a boy among the ropes and canvas –
that hour’s sunlight over all the days you’ve seen