In Losing (1981)

In losing there is the coming of night.
Waves recede, revealing
The heart's flapping fish.

Slow jazz plays on and on,
Spinning around a deep deep cut,
Washed by sewage and brine.

Eventually, riderless horses appear
On the beach with wild manes
Coursing in the wind,
Their cold eyes asking,
Shall we take you home?

You must decide how much
There is to lose
In losing.