(Unpublished, 2015)

A Hymn At Calapi

I thank you my Beatrice,
For this my plight,
To wade down from northern shores,
And taste wild rosemary,
On cliff face over which,
Mediterranean’s blue wonder,
Shelters all men before,
Gates through which Odysseus sailed.

And onward northern soul,
Towards a point forlorn,
Atop cliff in tower,
To scour the sweet azure,
For the fury untold,
Sweet nature cannot last,
All flux among the pearls,
No island without sin.

And as Milton’s broth,
Conjoins in corporeal reform,
Man’s fate, no more of paradise,
Beatrice out of sight,
Crashing waves against these rocks,
Torn asunder without fail,
In time more armies will arrive,
Allowing no rhyme to contrive.

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