MUNDANE MATTER

I wouldn’t count on any sympathy from a crab.

MUNDANE MATTER

I saw her white breast,

    black hair and her

Burning eyes, arms wide

    bidding me rise

And follow behind.

   “Come! Come away 

To the Land of Youth

    where nothing is

Hid or lost at all,

    where nothing dies

Or grows old at all!”

I stood and stumbled

    out of my bed

My head afire from

    her haunting call.

Down to the ocean,

    down to the shore,

Her trembling form

    beckoning from

Among broken rocks

    and breaking waves.

She stood upon

    the shouting waters,

Salt spray glistening

    on splendid limbs,

“The Land of Youth is

    waiting for us!

Life by illness and

    age untroubled!

Love by sorrow and

    envy unstained!”

Mind fevered by her

    torturous song

Into that tumult

    I headlong plunged – 

Struggled and succumbed.

The first wan rays of 

    dawn came and went.

The shining sun was

    high in heaven.

A curious crab

    found me lying,

Breath barely sighing

    from purple lips.

Hair and limbs in damp

    sand and seaweed

Tangled, dangled, gritty.

    “I couldn’t tread

The water, only bob 

      like a bottle

In the ruin of

    her depthless eyes,

Torn between desire

    and the fear of

Being broken on

    the broken rocks…”

But indifference won:

    crab scuttled on.