Variorum

My mood today undulates
Between the wine-dark Adriatic
Of a thousand ships, the blood
Of Troy leaching through a static

Sky, and the Dover straits
Of broad despair and love, or torn
From dark matter in the Yeats-
Like Sligo lochs, the Bloody Foreland

Of the Celtic swells, to the limpid
Sway of the Bahamas, deadened
By the layered grid of winter,
Insulated from the hope of summer,

And then back to the unknown
Again, born or dying by the light alone.

July 24th, 2024, Kaiholu