Villanova
This sea so clearly exhibits its forms of life That nothing seems too deep or wet about it Even as it slowly ladders the hairs of the thigh.
Ever so slightly lift its gently revolving lid And it drips back into itself like a fountain Of which for a moment I am the amused inventor Or a richly nude and indolent Brahma, laying My knuckles upon the surface of creation, Remembering to bless it in the middle of a yawn.
Admire the little fishes in the water pointing one way, So still and pale, only their shadows show. To be them is to be as cool as may be.
And well might it indeed be better to be them, For the sun cannot bear to be looked at, angrily Throwing back upon me my glance and godhead, Saying: 'Imagine the unlikeliness of liquid rock Surviving into the insolence of monuments! Imagine the seething vapours falling like tears!'
I can only think of this: if our desire For a defining stillness is a memory Of the unsuffering planet which imagined us We shall find it here. And in the magnificence Which is this sea in the middle of the world There will be some shade, all that is ever needed.
John Fuller
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