Curlews cry, an Aegean sky: a boat
lifts and falls. The heat of noon, a lethargic
gloom, she's tracked with light this star-struck night.

Moon-shadows cast, it's cool at last, this sweep
and swell, this road to hell. The ship's becalmed
with false alarms, this attic night of bone-white light:
no palimpest, no Grecian zest.

A sapphic wind balloons the moon, fans the fog's
p...

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