The soul in words
The ark has announced its arrival
In the port. An uneasy birth
A new life born of farewells
And deadly seasons.
The fragrance of poppies
Cascades on the shore. Men and women
In silhouette leave its deep penumbra:
The cargo of souls.
The shore is an upright gallows
And poison drips
From the leaking roof of eventide.
A new ship, far away, groping for light
And silence, passes majestically the bridge;
Soldiers stand by, mute guardians of tranquility.
It is nameless labour
And nameless repose.
We have forgotten why the earth
Is thus wheeled around by the firmament;
Forgotten are the juices
Of ripe happy fruits
Of daybreak tally-hos at the foot
Of stone-hipped fragrant hills.
Forgotten. My hands smell of oak trees
And I go on waiting
For docking and departure.