Day gleams dull and still,
an aquarelle of the Aegean;
the coasts of Anatolia
are lilac shadows merely;
the spectre of an argosy
steers for an ancient Koan harbour,
crewed by a company of silences.
Last night the bourini
gave tongue to nightmare, eddying
with ghastly cries of drowning men,
taunting the watch with questions
of the mermaid, silver-sinister,
until one said he saw her face
and flung himself to join her,
leaving his friend bedevilled,
inarticulate...
Glimpsing at noon the drypoint
certainty of port and pier, the sailors
will not recognise their wives.
Bourini: an unpredictable,
violent summer wind of the Aegean.
Bourini
© Copyright: Jena Woodhouse, 2003
Свидетельство о публикации №103040100924
Свидетельство о публикации №103040100924
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