Jade-threaded shawl of the sea slips from the sky’s wan shoulder… sky fleshed cool as an almond. Dawn wind wakes in the buoy-bells, shaking the sea with daffodil hands. From the wax stalk of the sun, little dawn clouds dripping…
Young cliffs stand free of their garments, green sea-silks fallen, dark cypress cloaks down from their thighs. White and breastless, they await the long yellow stroke of his fingers…
I call you comrade, you who strip the wind, leaping deliriously to slap her naked thighs! You with gut of the sky in tatters on your horns! We leap, lean flank to flank, our nostrils spuming.
Not you, O dispossessed ebb-tide! You sidle inland and evade my scrutiny. Not you, fawning upon the white-bodied boats, flesh twitching, whining for their breasts.
Pacific clouds have strayed into the north, pressing their soft bronze bellies toward the sun.
Sand coils in yellow wreaths upon the knees of rocks. Sails are one-petalled flowers quivering on the stalk. Tide running softly in on naked feet, scatters white holly boughs, pure-globed as saltless water in the wave.