He is sitting on rocks by the bay;
In this light I feel I can see who he is:

One of him is a fisherman, his arms able from
Hauling ropes, driving harpoons, pulling sails
Are showing a gathering crowd all they know

Another one of him is also able also brown
His face a rapt dynamic immovability above a
Swinging axe splitting firewood for the household hearth

Yet one more of him is smoking a pipe
Eyes filled with the deep-red crust spreading west out on the sea.
His brogans are worn, but he is beautiful