Giorgio Venetopoulos (Athens, Greece)
I knew the dance of clouds and windy drawl
fast moving marionettes of moonlight
conceived they passed the crannies of the soul,
and intersected solitude forthright.
Gray dusk ascended when 'Archangel' crossed
the sight of island men, remote like wraith
and huge the blackened ship's displacement bossed
the nautilus stunned stares - twas March, the eighth.
Monotonous the bagpipes led to trance
- autonomous the ship's insistent horn
invited us to some unworldly dance
the ship regaled; it stung our souls like thorn.
We danced in rain that night while ghost bag pipes
sound-weaved the sea's baptismal sacred notes
- betrothal waved the blue and white flag stripes
like coffins cradled round the wooden boats.
Embarked were we along that strange of dawn
sailed infinite of years on seascape brine,
the ghostly pipes with songs, at night alone,
fog's daughters treated us communion wine.
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