Элизабет Бишоп. Маленькое упражнение

Little Exercise 

Think of the storm roaming the sky uneasily 
like a dog looking for a place to sleep in, 
listen to it growling. 

Think how they must look now, the mangrove 
keys 
lying out there unresponsive to the lightning 
in dark,  coarse-fibred,  families, 

where occasionally a heron may undo his head, 
snake up his feathers, make an uncertain 
comment 
when the surrounding water shines. 

Think of the boulevard and the little palm 
trees 
all stuck in rows, suddenly revealed 
as fistful of limp fish-skeletons.

It is raining there. The boulevard 
and its broken sidewalks with weeds in every 
crack 
are relieved to be wet, the sea to be freshened. 

Now the storm goes away again in a series 
of small, badly lit battle-scenes, 
each in "Another part of the field. "

Think of someone sleeping in the bottom of a
row-boat 
tied to a mangrove root or the pile of a bridge:
think of him as uninjured, barely disturbed.