Callisto So Easily Scorned From The Mainland
UncategorizedLooking out at these pictures weaving
in shades of blue in the harbor
I remember it a nightmare, sweet delicacies cast aside
blown horrible, the memory of her face empty
like the face on a mirror wrapped in sackcloth
Each day dawning like the sun on a murderer
tied down to die by the sun
I say a prison — as an island is a prison
and no man is an island
Ships chasing the wakes of ships
worn ships tired after clawing from foreign lands
drawn to shore by the pointing of mothers and children
I say a lodestone — sailors bounced sea to sea
shackled by constellations in stormy seas
A cold spark from that same loneliness
shivering in us all, nights where
her shivering roared down the empty corridors
roaring still as the sea lapped it.
Nights and wine from clay jugs
until wine and clay lost their ceremony
