Art by Norman E. Masters
Write a poem at dawn my astonished soul for her thousand and one secrets, for her romance with the old gods, And in the chilly sanctuary of the sacred cliffs light a candle and marvel how silence brightens her image. Over the widow's walk the tempest prevails. Over the boards her steps mark the hours. Hold a steady course my heart for that pleasant meridian her womb where the salt catches the light, where the waters are dark and pure, And her wise fingers trace the cardinal points of desire on a small silver compass that lies hidden from the sun. For a thousand years the bells have been still. In the ruins of the tower the ghosts talk of love. In the cradle of the waters she sings a lullaby an ode to our splendor, and epitath for our loneliness And she is my mystery like ocean or sunlight, the caress that excites then vanishes in the clean spray of repose. Never was there a woman so untarnished by the sea. The courage of her modesty is legend among the waves.
Aug. -- Nov. 81'