Rilke wrote that we carry our deaths inside us, and it’s fitting that Hart Crane flung himself into the ocean. Water is so alive in his poems — river, sea. “The bottom of the sea is cruel,” he wrote, and in the end relied on that cruelty. And he wrote of its “reliquary hands.” Those are from Voyages, published in 1926. A friend of mine, after reading through a collection of poems of mine, pointed out that I seem to be obsessed with teeth. Death by chomping? Or will I eat too much?