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.