Just returned from Italy. Two weeks in Venice, Florence, and Rome. Jet-lag, and anomie. Where are we? Methinks that too much time has passed since my last entry. Need to write a few lines in order to see if I am still able to write at all. (Was I ever able to write??) Here goes:
Sharp horizon
rusts
against the Agean.
No Odysseus,
yet a return after exile.
Everything piles up
like the smooth stones of dreams.
Plumb the sockets of this sea
until the measure
of what we are
is nothing
dreamed of,
nothing gained.
