|
4. The SEA Speaks
Weft nets roll wide & silent above the Vast,
whose voice lights the spheres:
O race that lives in Hylas, honor with knife eyes
poets not to lie on Skyros or in fickle she's sheathes;
poets not bred for Missolonghi nor comfortable Lesbos;
poets, whine-wise like servant serpents
with white wings wefting
olive o'er laps of lazuli for the cloudy seasons . . .
For from my pieces, from my shattered mirror
you may make a glass wherein to see yourself,
snowwater wash to puddle fingers in &
disbelieve what is not in you.
. . . but alas, i weep for Hylas
Hylas who is all of us -- all dead --
Before our seed streaks water in the April boil of clay.
O how can you understand like Atlas, how can i make you
Next: Section 5 >>
|