Giorgio Veneto (Athens, Greece)
Seas closed above
We left Thule's icy moorings, three days ago,
13 hundred miles SW of Greenland, regards
from cumuli down on side-scuttles the snow,
memory of your figure still, amid dockyards..
Daffodil blossoms, bloom today, in my yard,
my goals will meet my end in voids dimension,
a ghostly sonar blinks, our entreats en guard,
of no warm recounting, January of ascension.
January, day twenty one, a latent still embrace,
A flash of Centauri, bad weather, fromward aft
our beckoning to you, fog's horizontal trace,
Maenads of us inherited, envious of this path.
Recall our summer of eighteen, a twinge within,
my soul's obtusion golden cross, I tightly clench,
our dreams on nimbus are, you, my Naiad kin,
dum dum, diesels oddly hum, and decks drench.
The stars of south shined eery-like, so, I knew,
from arctic we away edged, upon deathly links,
at 63 N,30 W, our twilight souls withdrew,
our cargo sided the wind oblong, and final brinks.
January 't was, 'n' we immersed to Triton forts,
it was your smile a sea gull's flight in our cove,
it was a sweetest rain of afternoon, a dim deport,
felt of your glance as foreign seas, closed above..
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