dripping with wine,

pomegranates already broken,

and shrunken figs

and quinces untouched,

I bring you as offering.

[30]

[30]

SEA GODS

I

They say there is no hope—

sand—drift—rocks—rubble of the sea—

the broken hulk of a ship,

hung with shreds of rope,

pallid under the cracked pitch.

They say there is no hope

to conjure you—

no whip of the tongue to anger you—

no hate of words

you must rise to refute.

They say you are twisted by the sea,

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