THE TALL SCHOONER
When birds came to stir the leaves
of the bitter trees beside my house
(blind nocturnal birds
boring their nests in the barks)
I faced the moon
and saw a tall schooner.
At the island’s rim the sea was salt;
the earth extended, ancient conches
glittered thrust into the rocks
on the roadstead of dwarf lemon trees.
And I told my love (my child was stirring in her,
And, for that, she had the sea within her soul continuously):
“I’m tired of all these wings that beat
in time to oars, and of the owls
that howl a dog’s lament
when wind of moon is in the cane brakes.
I want to leave I want to leave this island.”
And she: “O love, it’s late: let’s stay.”
Then slow I set myself to count
the strong surges of sea waterπουλιά,φύλλα,ανακατεύ
the air bore up into my eyes
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