the long morning of the world

cold clear brook

clean sky above

a wanderer in love with this earth

this ramshackle cave i live by the sea

hung with nets and flowers you see

lay down in straw and softest wool

ambrosia or nepenthe in amphorae

king of ithaca street down on the water

prince of the low tide and turtle shell

building my boat that never can float

and the wind coming in as the seas getting dark

a coldness sweeping down from the north

a sadness that penetrates the coral and seabirds

and sung by the shells down on the shore

a feeling of destiny wrecked and rusted

a feeling forgotten from hideous dream

toadfish hover in the transparent shallows

poseidon now latent in turbulent deep

i sit here alone

but i never weep