so, is the landscape fair?
hospitable or a board of Go?
and the self a stone
not unlike the stone I skipped across water
when I was at the lake's edge,
the poem of which was an evasion,
as this one may also be
of the wet and darkening waters of the world
Aqua, aqua, I am drowning
I am thirsty
I am condemned and absolved
by justice and mercy
I am blessed and drenched
but pilgrim, as you very well know,
this is not enough!
Mister boatman --what do you say--
can we strike a bargain?
Riddle me this--
is beauty a burden or blessing?
The boats bobbed on the incoming tide,
the boatmen were indifferent,
I ate my fruit.
My aptitude for empathy was at its height
even so
St Mark's square was not the welcome sight
of my expectations
though in Gania, let it be said,
the sea was a lyric
and the boatmen were beautiful--
