Penelope sings...
Small cloud with dark fins
wheeling over my island,
white gull with grey wings
in cerulean skies,
fly down to where harbour walls
grapple Poseidon,
circle above me,
look deep in my eyes
as I stand gazing seaward,
alone as a beacon -
and see how their light
ebbs and floods with the tides.
Carry this image
far beyond Ithaka,
brooding Mycenae,
the knucklebone Cyclades -
ask the blue dolphins
who haunt distant Chios
about the Ithakan
with voyager's eyes.
Amphibious envoy
whose pinions are scythes,
how fares the gaunt captain
with indigo vision?
Turn his thoughts homeward
from Ilium embattled -
spoils of war, beautiful
captives, burnt lives;
distract him from Helen,
the Hellespont, Priam -
my days are bright daggers,
my nights are dull knives.
Seagull
© Copyright: Jena Woodhouse, 2004
Свидетельство о публикации №104012900843
Свидетельство о публикации №104012900843
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