Wednesday, August 18, 2004


On a lapis sea, perhaps the lascivious Terrene sea,
On wavelets made scintillant at their peaks by sunlight
Bellerophon floats and freewheel drifts.
Microclime winds and currents will carry him far,
Without a need to be quenched by his arrival.

To the wharf, the stevedores haul the jetsam intercepted,
Lost these many years, a hulk, a huddle,
A man drowned, too weak for the immensitys of the sea.
Back in worming rivulets to its aggregate, the ocean drains
Between the wooden boards, leaving black ignorance,
As the last of sleep is gone from him.