The Darkened Sea
Imagine, then, that salt waves draw the soul
Of hyacinths, their purple fragrance down,
The fragrance of high lilacs from rock knoll,
And cliff, and pathway of an island’s crown
To blue Aegean stretches. Purple falls
To salt and blue. The fragrance falls to blue.
The blue remains, blue, blue. It calls and calls.
The purple settles to its death. The brew
Of blue and purple turns to one true tinge,
But truer blue because the death involved
Turns hungrily to rocky island fringe
Where purple finds its fragrant self absolved
Of guilt for being more of beauty than
The sea, more lovely than the salt blue span.