Where’s the world, I murmur as cold water
Clasps pale thighs. It’s true, I’m no Achilles,
But the sloppy ancient sea’s my author
And guide, enfolds me wet, smells like lilies –
The festering kind, you know the ones. Worse
Than multitudes. And now in, in, endless
And still now, around me, cold, the world’s hearse,
Earth’s caul and blanket, silent and friendless –
For who dares friend the sea’s hungry limbs?
Like an old man’s weak arms around the knees
Of the sea-goddess’ boy death-child I swim.
I splash multitudes, the past, the faint breeze
That is history soaking flesh. Wet now
I embark. Tales of power to unknow.
