The endless foam of wave on rock
warm rock, cool water, very real morning
creeping over the world's edge
one bright wing of flame
lighting the east horizon.
Your shrinking sails are wind-borne, black,
and very far away.
It was my string you followed,
deep down into the dark,
beast-centred, the howling heart
the shame of lust made flesh and sought
in the hot mazed depths;
with a safe way unwinding behind
back to the sane spaced marble
the glint of sunlight on cold water
the gentle bounce of quiet conversation
once first the beast was caught,
wrestled, borne down, slain
with a wild triumphant cry.
I made a choice, handing you the string.
I thought you chose when you took it:
after braving that blackness
to stand together in the sunshine.
You did not seem a coward when I met you,
sea-worthy, well-greaved, making declarations.
What wild desire, what monstrous quest,
what kingdom saved, what vanquished beast,
what gain to whom to leave me on this shore?
But only ocean answers,
the ceaseless sea-swell
carrying your black sail
constantly away.
The sun is well up now,
and all the world is bright.
I am whole, and here.
It was just my trust you broke,
that fled like night from dawn
like sea-mist roils and melts
in the hard hot light of day.
I will turn my eyes inland.
There are heroes, beasts and string enough.
Back to Medusa
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