A Few Words Whispered Out of Calypso's Earshot
on the island that each of us
bending shorelines, ageless silences.
Dispel this maudlin grist,
these meaningless reflections!
Over the waters,
annihilated by the commotion
of the wind and wave whither its words are borne,
the night spoke to me in a voice
that could not have been my own
as it painted a smile
whose anonymous eyes far outstripped
what I remembered your face
When I heard those shapely lines,
My self-certitude melted like Descartes' wax.
My memory failed me,
ravaged by time's vicissitudes,
(spent, perhaps, too strenuously elsewhere),
a mute and feeble thing
that holds in its emptied form
only this last recurring theme:
How I long for you to return.